Infinite
by Cerridwynne
Summary: Marquis is killed in his own home, leaving daughters Taylor and Amy to fend for themselves in Brockton Bay. Without its leader, the Marche struggles for purpose as the sisters learn that having power only draws powerful enemies. [ON HIATUS, large rewrite coming]
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE: AMELIA

"_Daaad, we're home!" _Amelia called into the foyer as she and her sister arrived.

"_In the kitchen, don't come in yet!" _was the harried reply. _Well of course I'm not gonna come in, Dad, do you really think I'm gonna ruin Taylor's birthday surprise? _Today was not a day for such ghastly mistakes! No, today would be perfect, because today was her big sister's Sweet Sixteen and Amelia would allow it to be no other way. Taylor caught her eye-roll and shot her a grin before, _of course_, sprinting directly for the kitchen - and promptly slamming face-first into a quickly grown wall of bone.

"Dad, that's cheating!" Taylor grumbled from the floor, checking if her nose was okay. _ She's taken worse,_ Amelia mused, thinking back to last year's Christmas. _Serves her right for trying to sneak a peek the night before, of course._ The pitiful girl wriggling around on the floor going cross-eyed to check for crookedness _refused_ to allow any surprise to be left alone.

"_I'm _cheating?! You know the rule! No peeking before the cake is on the table!" The indignant response was slightly muffled by the thin, porous layer of bone, and neither of the girls needed to see through it to picture the smirk on their father's face.

"What happened to no powers in the house?" was the grumbled reply from the floor, where Taylor still lay.

"That's for _you, _Taylor, if and when you get your own! _I _won't bring the house down, and _Amelia_ isn't going to turn Frankie into a monster any time soon," his voice called out, brimming with smugness. At the mention of his name, the mint-toothpaste-colored ball of slime oozed out of the bony barrier and _flubbed_ his way onto Taylor's lap, blinking up at her with one newly-grown eye. Deciding against spending the rest of the day on the floor, the birthday girl extricated herself from her own ball of knees and elbows, cradling Frankie and giving one last once-over to her nose before that grin came back.

"Do you think it's gonna happen soon?! I want to work with you and Ames on the Boardwalk!" Amelia rolled her eyes, thinking back to the hours and hours spent with her sister discussing possible powers and costumes. Her own powers had shown up just two years ago, when Taylor broke her ankle on one of her morning runs.

"It'll happen when it happens, _mon petit ouiseau, _now get in here and help me eat this cake!" Taylor scrambled with supernatural speed into the kitchen the moment the bone-wall lowered, skittering into a chair and rocking it back with the force of her entry. Upon confirming her supervillainous father was _not, _in fact, eating her birthday cake, she grabbed a fork and knife to cut a piece of the two-tiered chocolate-frosted masterpiece for herself. "_Why yes, father dearest, thank you so much for baking this delicious cake all by yourself! Why, you even remembered the fudge filling! Oh I love you so very much!" _The mocking, high tones of her father's impersonation of Taylor greeted Amelia as she took her own seat more carefully and cut a slice of her own.

"So, tell me about your days?" Dad took a seat across from them and cut his own, _significantly larger_, slice of cake as Taylor looked at him with the most soul-felt look of betrayal in the history of mankind before shoveling her own slice of cake into her mouth and forgetting all about it. Taylor nudged her sister with her foot, prompting her to answer first. _There's no point putting it off, you know, _Amelia said with her eyes, before indulging her big sister as they both knew she would.

"Biology's been hard to fake being dumb at, but I'm managing regular A's without correcting the teacher," she answered, remembering how mortified she was the first day back after her trigger. _It's not my fault Ms. Platt can't graph the biological storage coefficient of quadrihelical DNA strands... _"Oh, and that Brigade girl is still giving me funny looks. I think she knows about you but can't bring herself to do anything about it." Her dad nodded, expecting as much. Amelia shot her sister a pointed look, _your turn_, and nudged her back with her foot, exactly as hard as necessary. "_Taylor's_ day was much more interesting though!"

Renewing her look of ultimate betrayal, Taylor winced as her dad's attention switched to her. Casting one last baleful glance at her sister, she slowly started answering with, "Well... I may have accidentally... _completely_ by mistake and not at all intentionally... kicked a Nazi in the balls?" As Amelia wondered once again how one _accidentally_ inflicts testicular trauma on a neo-Nazi, their father was much less amused.

"Taylor, what have I told you about fighting in school?" Recognizing the beginnings of an argument on her lips, he quickly interjected, "I don't _care_ who started it, you _continued _it! You and I both know the principal knows _exactly_ who you're related to and she's just begging you to give her a good enough reason to expel you!"

"Dad, he called me a-"

"_I don't care_ what he called you! _You _had a responsibility to walk away! When you're in that building, _no matter what_, you play nice, do you understand?"

"But he-"

At this, their father quickly stood up and pointed into Taylor's face as Amelia shrank back. Recognizing the beginnings of anger, she silently wished Taylor would know better than to argue back. "_I said I don't-"_

Whatever Marquis _didn't_ was never finished, as at that exact moment, a hardlight javelin speared through the window, through the back of his head, and continued on out the inner left corner of his right eye socket before burying itself into the polished wood surface of the kitchen table, pinning his skull on top of the two-tiered, fudge-filled chocolate birthday cake. Taylor's gaze was drawn to the way his blood began pooling over the side of the cake; _it almost looks like raspberry syrup, _she deliriously thought. Amelia and Taylor quietly sat, stunned, for what felt both entirely too short and far too long of a time.

**DESTINATION**

**AGREEMENT**


	2. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE: Changes (REWRITE 8/01)

* * *

February 2011

_His head pinned to the table, Amy staring at the glowing javelin displacing his eye as it slowly faded away, letting our dad's corpse fall to the side. A scream comes from... somewhere. Me? Everything goes white. Suddenly- a void, vaster than space; infant godlings drifting-_

I woke with a start, jolting up off the cot- and just as suddenly laid back down as my head hit the ceiling. _Still not used to the height, then._ Frankie looked up at me, concerned. "Shh, buddy. I'm just fine. Doesn't even hurt, see?" I wrinkled my nose at the little monster as he slowly blinked before settling down. I went to wipe the sleep from my eyes before remembering I don't have to do that any more. _How long until I don't have to sleep any more, either?_ I glanced at the clock on the wall, and groaned at the time. 4:30? For all my recent changes, waking up at a reasonable hour still seemed beyond me. Might as well make use of the extra daytime, though. Amy snored, quietly if anybody asked, from the cot pushed right up next to mine along one wall of our small apartment, as I got up and stretched, noticing my shirt didn't cover quite as much belly as it did last night. _Dammit, and it's brand new, too._ That's probably a good indication I should check myself over for any other new changes.

Making my way to the bathroom, I had to pay extra attention to walk on the heels of my feet to avoid scratching the linoleum floor. Talons sound really cool on paper until you realize they don't make socks for humanoid velociraptors. Goodbye warm feet, forever. I shed my clothes as soon as I got into the cramped bathroom, switching on the flickering light and looking into the mirror.

The first thing I noticed was my even longer hair. Already down to my butt? That really needs to stop, soon, or Amy's never going to shut up about looking like Rapunzel. The white coloration still took some getting used to, although I couldn't complain about the added volume and smoothness of it. _Maybelline, eat your heart out_, I snarked to myself. I then frowned in the mirror as I realized I was snarking to myself, which brought my gaze to my face. I then frowned harder at the changes I saw there. _Blue eyes_, I noted._ I'm going to miss having Dad's eyes._ I'd already lost so much else of myself that I shared with him. At closer inspection, my eyes really did stand out. They weren't just _blue,_ they were like... how I imagined lightning would look if you could catch it in a gem. There was a motion to them, a current around the rims as shades of blue and near-white flowed around the pupil._ How the hell is this an 'improvement'?_ This power makes no damn sense. Maybe they shoot lasers? I tried it out, thinking really hard on _Laser Eyes!_ I glared at myself in the mirror before realizing A) If this works, the laser would probably reflect off the mirror and hit me, and B) I looked constipated and nothing was happening. Damn, and that would have been pretty useful, too... Might as well check the rest of my body, not that it could get much weirder at this poi- _nope, not gonna jinx it._

I noted the faint shift of my curves; the narrowing of my shoulders, the broadening of my hips, the swell in my chest. _That_ was the one thing I could thank my power for. Actually having a shape other than rectangular. At this point I still didn't have anything close to an hourglass figure, but at least nobody could mistake me for a malnourished preteen boy. I must have grown another inch or two overnight, but I could check the exact amount later, or just get Ames to check for me. She couldn't affect my body much, but at least she could diagnose me and document any developments. Looking over my arms and legs, I noticed the distinct lack of any hair, and the total absence of any scars or freckles. That didn't weird me out nearly as much as my hands and feet, though. My hands were still mostly human, although the nails were still much harder than normal, and my fingers were a little longer, a little more slender. My feet, though, those were getting freaky. The toes themselves had grown to be half as long as my fingers, while there was a distinct arch between the ball and heel of each foot. Dangerous-looking talons grew from each of my four remaining toes, which Amy had jokingly painted with white tips recently, convincing me my raptor-feet still needed a woman's touch. They were already tough enough to put holes in the floor if I wasn't careful. I cast a baleful eye at the sandals in the corner as I wistfully thought back to my favorite running shoes._ At least we have a treadmill, I can still run on that._ Finishing my inspection, I hopped into the shower as I heard Amy waking up.

The _pitter-patter_ of her bare feet made me quietly jealous of her relative normality as my ears twitched at the sound. I started washing my hair, although at this point I was fairly certain that was unnecessary._ Listen here, power: don't you dare take away my shower time._ I'd already gotten rid of having morning breath forever, which I suppose wasn't too much of a loss, and my teeth had been getting a bit sharper, though not inhumanly so... _yet._ Amy rustled in the fridge as I let the lukewarm water wash over me, rinsing my hair and reaching for the soap. I was certain I'd cranked the heat up, and it's not like Ames had already used up the hot water... Was the heater broken? I felt the suds wash down my back, cascading down my spine and gathering at the tip of the budding tail I was growing. At least I could still hide it. I heard the bathroom door creak open. "In the shower, Ames."

"I'll just be a bit, don't mind me!" Her chipper voice called out to me. _How dare you be a morning person. I demand an apology. It's 5 AM and you _dare _to be chipper._ The toilet seat popped up and I started loudly humming to cover up any weirdness. "I've got a kettle going for your tea, sis. Do I need to check you over today?" Amy really needed to learn about personal space, though I could hardly blame her. We've been attached at the hip for years, after all.

"Yeah, I grew over night and I can see some surface changes. Check me after breakfast?" An affirmative noise greeted me before the toilet flush and she stood up. "_Ames you know that makes the water_\- huh. It doesn't feel hot at all, actually."

"So your superpower is taking super-hot showers? Triumvirate material here, folks!"

"We can't all be amazing like you, Amy." Mild frustration tinged my tone. _She gets a death-touch, I get... pretty hair and bird feet._

"Don't take it so hard, Tay. We'll figure things out," she promised. "I'll check you when you finish up."

* * *

At the kitchen table, I scarfed down a massive stack of pancakes while hiding my face behind an oversized coffee mug. "How do you eat that much?" Amy looked on in awe, looking back and forth between her own eggs and bacon and my mile-high stack of carbs and sugar. "That's how your boobs are getting bigger, isn't it!"

"Fuck if I know," I mumbled through a mouthful of breakfast pastry. Swallowing, I continued. "I'm always hungry now."

"Well, you've been growing a lot."

"You calling me fat?" I narrowed my eyes dangerously, though the effect was lost on her. _I could never threaten Amy, after all._

"Yu-p," she casually replied. My fork bent a little in my hand. "A-ny-ways, I got in contact with an associate of mine. A Thinker, and a good one, too. Think she might be able to give us some answers. Seems like she knows a little bit about everything, really."

"You really think so?" I shivered at the blossoming of hope in my chest. For a month now, my power had been playing around unrestrained with my body. I wanted answers: what exactly was it doing to me, and how did I control it? _Could _I control it?

"She's at the base right now, we can stop by when you're ready," she replied. "Don't worry, we can trust her. We've already unmasked to each other, just her and I, and I've been talking her into joining on a more permanent basis; she can be a bit abrasive but the rest of our team has put up with her so far." I had to wonder at that; Amy's gang hadn't gotten any new capes since Dad's death.

"You think she's a good fit for the Marche?" It needed to be asked; the other capes working with Amy weren't exactly sociable people. Bitch and Regent instantly came to mind; anybody who could fit in with them must be quite something.

"Well she's put up with Alec's sense of humor so far; Rachel doesn't like her but Rachel doesn't like anybody so that's a moot point. Adam, of course, is already hitting on her." We both rolled our eyes at that, but it came as no surprise. The velocity-altering cape was infamous as a womanizer within the Marche. We had a long-standing agreement that if he tried with either one of us, the other would hide the body afterwards.

"Okay, but I do want to do one last checkup with you before we go and see her. Would you mind?" Saying so, I reached one hand across the table for her to touch. As soon as she did so, she twitched.

"Dammit, your body gets harder and harder to read every time we do this," she complained. _How much longer can I rely on her for this?_ "Some of your organs are in the wrong place. Seems like they're getting smaller... but also more efficient?" Her eyes glazed over as she continued, looking at something only she could see. "There's... weird things everywhere. Organ systems, I think, but I can't tell what they do. Seems like... Something to do with your metabolism? Energy conversion? Nothing I've ever heard of. And your cells are starting to revert to non-differentiated stem cells. Except that's not quite right, is it? They _are _specialized, I just can't tell _how._ Dammit!" She tossed her hand off me in frustration. "I give up, that's all I can get. And now I have a migraine."

"Thank you, Amy," I said sincerely. This was the one way that I felt I had any control over my body: understanding what was happening to it. And that was going to be taken from me soon, too. "Let's get ready to go."

* * *

Amy and I made our way into the warehouse bought out by Dad years ago, now our primary base. There were several other, smaller satellite outposts around the city, but this was the largest and most easily defended, located along the southern shore of the Bay. While I wasn't technically a gang member just yet, on account of still not being used to my powers, I was welcome enough. While the ground floor was mostly empty, the basement and two upper floors held rooms and storage for the rest of our team. Bitch was likely downstairs tending to her dogs, while shooting noises from upstairs indicated Alec and Adam were on the gaming console. In the center of the ground floor, however, was an unfamiliar figure: a skinny blonde girl in a purple and black leotard, a handgun holstered at her side and a domino mask above a distinctly smug smile. _Really, how can a smile be that smug? That's gotta be a record for smuggest smile._ Catching sight of us, the girl who had _no right to look that good in spandex_ sauntered over to us, thrusting her hand out to me. Not waiting for me to shake it, she instead grabbed my hand and shook it vigorously.

"Hey, nice to meet you!" She was all flashing teeth and social energy. I was exhausted just listening to how _peppy _she was. "Mycroft. You have a cape name yet?" The smaller girl scrutinized me briefly, answering for me before I could open my mouth. "No, of course not. Biohazard told me a little bit about your situation, how your body's changing in mysterious ways. I'm gonna assume it isn't just puberty?"

"I wish," I scoffed. Amy and the new girl looked mildly horrified at the prospect of somebody _wanting _to go through puberty again. "My power is doing... _something_ to my body. Changing it slowly. I have no idea when it'll stop. _If _it ever stops. Can you tell me... anything?" I fought down the _please _that almost escaped my lips.

"Honestly, this isn't exactly my specialty. And whatever your power is doing to you, it doesn't like me snooping around. I'm getting a headache just trying, really." She _did _look tense, tight in the face and her eyes struggling to focus on me. "But I do happen to know a little bit. You ever heard of an Infinite?"

"...no?" Amy looked just as baffled as me.

"Figures. It's rare, and not very well known outside of academic circles. Which, naturally, I'm part of." She gave a little flourishing bow. "So class, an Infinite is a proposed addition to the power classification system. It's not really a category of power like Brute or Blaster is, but rather _how_ a power functions. Most every cape's power is as strong on day one as they'll ever be. They might think of new ways to use that power, or grow as a better fighter, but if your power is, say, flight, your top speed won't ever change. You have a set limit on your power. But Infinite capes break that rule. Where yesterday you could control fire, today you can control _and _create it, or have finer control, control more of it, whatever- point is, your power grows over time."

"And I'm one of these?"

"I can't think of a better explanation," she shrugged. "There are some slow-acting Changers out there that are mistaken as Infinites occasionally; I think there's one on the local Wards, even. But they can only change so much before they reach the limit of their power. Something tells me that isn't what's going on here."

"So it never stops." I tightened and relaxed my hands, trying to picture what this meant for me. _What will I be in another month? A year?_

Mycroft gave me a sympathetic look, but I wasn't having it. Instead, I snagged a scarf by the door and threw it around my face before stomping out. Behind me, I heard Amy and Mycroft speaking in hushed tones, but didn't care to focus on the words. I left the lair and picked a random direction to run.

Running's always been a release for me. My power was well on its way of taking that from me as well, though. My speed and stamina were just too much; I couldn't work up the same burn, that same runner's high as I used to. Instead it was just monotonous, although the quiet time to think and nice scenery would never be taken from me. Of course, that was immediately proven false as the most _goddamn obnoxiously awful_ noise filled the streets. Covering my ears, I looked around for the source- and ran face-first into a shiny black and red Tinkertech tank, its mounted railgun pointed right at me. _I really need to stop jinxing myself._


	3. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO: Combat Ready

* * *

I bounced back onto my ass, cupping my nose and checking for bleeding. Finding none, I looked up at the metal monstrosity that had decided _Fuck this girl in particular._ It was a bulky, heavy thing, leaving ruts in the pavement as it drove along double-wide treads, with a reflective black surface and evil-looking glowy red lines tracing the exterior. A rectangular barrel was mounted on top, red lines pulsing along its length, as it swiveled to point directly at me. It took up most of the intersection we'd found ourselves in, surrounded by low-rise buildings and empty storefronts. And then the tank spoke in a voice only slightly less obnoxious than the previous squealing and engine sputters.

"_Did I hit something? Shit, check the cameras!" _It was a high-pitched, nasally whine that emanated from the vehicle, the kind that wormed its way into your skull and gave you tinnitus. Like an alcoholic aunt. The mounted weapon swiveled here and there before pointing directly at me, and I hastily backed up before it could shoot a massive hole in me. "_Huh. The fuck're you doing here, kid?"_

"Running?" I replied honestly. _If she's not looking for a fight, I can get out of here and go tell Amy._

"_What, and you ran face-first into my Reich-wheeler?"_ Wait, Reich-wheeler? Reich... Nazi... Empire Eighty Eight... Vehicle Tinker...

"Wait, _Panzer?!" __Not good._ She was infamous in Brockton Bay for both arming the neo-Nazi gang with Tinkertech getaway vehicles and weaponry, as well as being the single most easily pissed off cape in the city.

_"Damn right I am. Are you gonna apologize for smearing your greasy face all over my shiny chrome or what?"_ The barrel of the weapon glowed dangerously, red light building up inside. _Apologize? She ruined my morning run, and she's on Marche territory. I'm not rolling over for anybody. _I scrambled up to my feet and tried to strike a pose: _white mane billowing heroically, scarf flapping in the wind as I raised my chin defiantly, eyes glowing like twin beacons of danger!_ My scarf flapped directly into my eyes and I hastily readjusted it.

"No," I firmly stated. "But _you _can fuck right off... or try apologizing to Biohazard for being here through a mouthful of tumors."

"_A Marche flunkie, then..." _The ear-splitting voice sounded disappointed. "_Another race traitor in this fucking town! I'm doing a favor for Kaiser every time I kill one of you shits."_ I could have engaged in a debate on the flawed logic of the extremely racist rhetoric used by the Nazi party, but chose instead to leap out of the way of fiery death as a thick red beam lanced out of the mounted laser gun. My ears popped as the air was explosively ripped apart by the super-heated beam. The ground where I'd been standing was instantly turned into a meter-deep crater with glassy walls. Talons scraped along the asphalt as I hit the ground, finding purchase and launching me closer. "_Stop tailgating me, bitch!"_

_Think, Taylor!_ I was fighting a tank. A Tinker-built tank, which meant it could likely do things a tank _really_ shouldn't be able to. As long as I stayed close, I could out-maneuver that gun and search for a weak point. _If it has one,_ I noted, seeing the densely layered plate armor covering every inch of the vehicle. The cannon revved up for another shot, trained directly on my chest. I dashed in a circle around the vehicle as the explosion rocked the earth beneath my feet, but lost my footing as the concussive shock of rapidly displaced air hit me. I tumbled to the ground, catching myself before I smashed face-first into it, and launched myself back up before the damn thing ran me over. The tank was now dashing around unpredictably, massive exhaust ports belching blue flames as the death contraption rocketed itself up and down the alley, making hair-pin turns and at one point going _up _a wall rather than through it.

The multi-ton monstrosity made an impossibly tight twist, turning 180 degrees in the blink of an eye and now heading _right for me_. I leaped upwards, high as I could, and crashed into the roof of the tank. "_Think you're safe up there?"_ That nasally voice dropped into a low croon. With a pneumatic _hiss,_ the gun in front of me _detached,_ and a pair of rotors sprang out from its sides, making the thing airborne. It darted away and twisted in the air, pointing directly towards me and the tank. My eyes widened and I flopped to my side off the tank, hitting the ground rolling. _Shit, what can __I _do? I'd started this fight, and I had to finish it. She wouldn't let me surrender at this point. _There's no vulnerabilities on the surface, it's too well-armored._ As I was forced to dodge the blunt, crushing force of the careening tank and the pinpoint accuracy of its airborne laser cannon, an awful, suicidal idea hit me. _Do I have any other options?_

The Tinker-tank made another rapid turn, once more heading right for me, and I enacted my plan: jumping straight under the undercarriage. I quickly rolled onto my back and seized anything I could hold onto with a death-grip. The tank spun about in a panic, trying to dislodge me. "_Are you fucking dense?!" _The weapons-grade screech from the pilot blasted from a speaker _right next to my ear. Why does she have speakers on the bottom of the tank?!_ I almost lost my grip to the urge to cover my ears. "_Get the fuck off before you die for real!" _What, she cared? I ignored the advice of my opponent and sunk claws and talons and fangs into whatever exposed bits of machinery I could. Eventually, I was rewarded with a thick black piece of rubber tubing coming loose between my teeth. Viscous, smelly liquid poured out of the tear I'd left directly onto my face. _Gasoline!_ I spat out the tubing and gagged, releasing the undercarriage and rolling out from beneath the tank, a trail of the shimmering fuel leaking out behind me.

"_You really are dense," _Panzer mocked once she caught sight of me again, rising to my feet. "_Should have stayed on the ground like the worm you are. If you like crawling in the dirt so much, I'll fucking _bury _you in it!"_ The cannon charged up once more, and I smiled viciously in the instant before it fired. Just before the concussive blast was loosed, I dove away from the tank. Behind me, a massive explosion rocked the alley, shattering windows and blasting open doors, catapulting me through the air. I crashed through an abandoned store front, splintering a wooden beam before painfully landing on my back. I groaned and struggled to get back to my feet.

Through the broken glass, I saw the tank had been rocked back off its treads, falling helplessly onto its side. The undercarriage had been torn apart, a massive hole ripped through the chassis. _She isn't dead, is she?_ My worries- mild as they were- were quickly proven pointless as the side- now the top- of the tank split open, a hatch opening up. An armored hand gripped the rim, followed by a figure clad in sleek, black and red powered armor, covered in exhaust ports and turbines belching blue flames and black smoke. The figure's head, covered in a cross between a motorcyclist's helmet and a fighter plane's cockpit, swiveled to stare balefully out at me. "You... absolute fucking _bitch.._" The voice growled dangerously low, the previous nasally tones nowhere to be heard. "Break _my _ride, make _me _fucking _walk _home... I'm going to turn you into little- you're on fire," Panzer pointed stupefied at me. _I am?_ I twisted my head around and saw that the ends of my scarf and tail of my jacket were quickly being consumed in flames. I hadn't felt a thing, but these were some of the few clothes that still fit me, and I'd rather not walk home naked. I quickly dropped to the ground and started rolling, patting out the flames.

"Pffthahaha!" She burst out into laughter, doubling over and gesturing with a mocking finger. "You're fried chicken!" _I'm what?_ She gestured to my oddly-bent legs and unnatural feet, repeating herself. "Fried fucking chicken!" I broke into an angry blush and quickly got back to my feet. _They don't look anything like chicken legs!_

"Keep talking," I grumbled. "It'll make punching your teeth in _much _more satisfying."

"What, you think you can hit me? You can't even _see _me." The sound of her voice had barely reached my ears before she was standing in front of me, fist buried in my gut. I was launched off my feet, unable to breathe. _When did she move?! _I hadn't even hit the ground before she was once again standing over me, heel raised. A small turbine shot out flames on top of her foot, and it crashed downwards into me, pinning me to the floor. A piercing pain in my chest told me something was definitely broken. "Can't keep up, Chicken Run?" She was poised over me as I writhed on the floor, clutching my stomach. Her fist was poised over my face, ready to pop my skull like a watermelon. _Please don't let that be the last thing I hear, _I prayed.

As her fist descended, a trail of fire and ash in its wake, I saw it all in slow motion. _Is this my life flashing before my eyes?_ The hand of death was inches from taking my life, consuming my entire field of vision, before it suddenly deviated in its path. Rather than rendering my face into cranberry jam, her elbow seized before fully extending, and her arm continued downwards- straight into her own knee. With an awful _crack_, her knee was blown out, bent backwards at an angle that just looked _wrong._ "_FUCK!"_ She screamed in pain, clutching the horribly disfigured limb and rolling onto her side. I scrambled backwards before whatever miracle had saved my life decided it had changed its mind.

Through the shattered window, several heavy, monstrous figures crashed to the ground. Crosses between dogs and crocodiles, massive enough to make Kujo look like a guinea pig. Astride the monster dogs were four capes. To the left were a lanky, effeminate boy in tight leather pants, a loose white shirt and a tragedy mask with a crown, riding behind a butch girl in a bomber jacket, worn jeans and a dollar-store dog mask. On the right was a tall, lean man in a chest-baring black silk shirt, an open teal waistcoat, dress pants and a full face mask in black bearing a wide blue arrow pointing upwards, stretching from chin to brow. And leading the party was a foreboding girl in a flowing black dress with sickly green filigree and a plague doctor's mask. The Marche.

Biohazard- Amy- ran a finger along a potted tree by the storefront, keeping one hand on the massive dog she rode. The plant exploded in size, vines ripping through the pottery to twine around Panzer, while the dog rapidly deflated, looking like an extreme liposuction that didn't stop at just removing fat. When the monstrous dog was reduced to a fur throw rug, a significantly smaller puppy crawled out of its mouth, running and hiding behind one of the much larger animals. Panzer clutched at the tendril encircling her neck, just barely loose enough to allow her breath.

"Panzer. You're a long way from home." Hazard's voice never broke the tone of polite dinner conversation. "You're quite close to _my _home, however. I don't recall inviting you."

"B-_it-ch_," the Tinker choked out.

"That would be my friend here, actually," she nonchalantly gestured at the canine Master. "I strongly suggest you leave. You can willingly follow that suggestion, or I can infest your brain with a mind-controlling fungus. Which do you believe is the smarter choice?" Panzer's eyes widened comically, realizing that the cape before her was fully capable of following through on that threat. When the vine constricting her rapidly decayed, the villain scrambled backwards on her hands, dragging herself up a wall before hobbling away on one foot. Before she'd hopped more than a dozen feet, a small pebble _zipped_ through the air, impacting her in the shoulder and sending her crashing to her knees. Vector called to her through the howls of pain.

"You can crawl home," he simply stated. My ears twitched at the muttered, hateful curses that escaped Panzer as she did exactly that.

Once she was out of sight, Hazard sharply turned on one heel and punched me in the shoulder. "What the hell were you thinking!" She seethed, shaking in anger. "We're going back to the base, and you're going to explain _exactly_ what happened." Despite being nearly a foot above my little sister, I felt very small at that moment.

* * *

"So you just _happened _to run face-first into the Tinker with the highest body count on the East Coast outside of the Slaughterhouse," Amy deadpanned.

"...yes?" I wished dearly to be my old self at that moment. I could have curled up in a ball and hidden from the world. Instead, I hunched in my shoulders and ducked my head in the vain hopes that I'd look pitiful enough to be left alone. "I swear I didn't go looking for that fight."

"I believe you," she said at length, and I relaxed slightly. "You were just _stupid _enough to jump at it when it found you!" She was shouting at me now, alone as we could be in the warehouse basement.

"Why are you so angry!" I shouted back. "I won, didn't I? One broken rib, and she has a busted tank and a broken leg."

"You think that's what this is about?" _Shit._ Her voice had dropped to an angry whisper, and I already missed the yelling. A quiet Amy was never a good thing. "_You didn't win,_ Taylor. You were about to _die,_ before _Regent_ saved your ass! She's going to go back to Kaiser and tell him about the new Marche cape who she _almost _killed before being outnumbered and forced to retreat. You didn't accomplish anything."

"Well, what was I supposed to do!" I threw up my hands helplessly.

"Run away and tell me?"

Yelling at each other wasn't helping anything. I bit down on my anger and frustration, and tried again from a different angle. "Ames, I know you've gotten used to protecting me since my trigger," I started.

"And you think I should stop? If I _hadn't _protected you, you'd be dead. But please, tell me how I'm wrong." She leaned back against a stack of crates, gesturing at me to continue.

"No, you're right." I sighed, and she looked mildly put out that she'd won so easily. "I needed you there today. But there's a better solution than you running after me to fix my mistakes."

"...I'm listening," she answered, leaning forward.

"I officially join the Marche, and we do this together. I don't run off on my own, you don't keep me locked up at home."

"I don't keep you locked up!" She protested. I raised an eyebrow at her. "You're welcome to come here any time you like."

"And outside of here? I haven't been just Taylor for over a month, now. I haven't seen any friends outside of you and Adam when he visits. I want to go out in the public."

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

"Eventually, I'm going to be forced to live full-time as a cape. I won't have a civilian identity to fall back on, like you and the others. I need to get ahead of that, and show people who I am before I turn into some kind of monster."

"You're _not_ a monster!"

"Will you be able to say the same in a year, if this keeps up?" She went silent, searching my face.

"This is... a really dangerous idea, Taylor," she eventually said, carefully eyeing me for my reaction. I dipped my head in agreement.

"I know. But do you have a better idea?"

"...no," she eventually answered, looking put out. "Fine, you join the Marche and make your cape identity public. I'll... try not to lock you in a tower to keep you from doing stupid things." Under her breath, I caught her mutter, "how can you be so clever but so clueless?" Louder, she continued. "If you're going to be part of this shindig, I can't have you running around in sweats and a scarf with a stupid name. What are you gonna call yourself?" I scratched the back of my neck, looking anywhere but at her.

"Um... Vanguard?" She cocked an eyebrow.

"Vanguard? Why? What's that have to do with anything?"

"Well, I figure I'm a Brute, right? So I'll probably be going in front. To keep you from getting hurt." She raised an eyebrow at me. "I know, I know, you totally saved my ass today. But I can take hits you can't. Or, I will eventually." I sighed in exasperation. "Fucking slow-ass power," I cursed, not for the first time. Amy's grumpiness finally wore off, and she rewarded me with the smallest of smiles.

"Alright, Vanguard. Let's introduce you to the gang."

* * *

"Hi, Vanguard," everybody said at once. It felt like being introduced at a new school. I poked Amy in the side and bent over to whisper in her ear.

"Dumbest tradition ever," I muttered.

"It's not _so _bad!" She rolled her eyes at me.

"You're just saying that cause you never had to do it!" Mycroft called from her seat in our little circle. Rachel seemed content just scratching her puppy behind the ears, while Adam tried to remove Alec's feet from his lap, only his hand kept missing. Eventually he just laid down a shimmering blue field on the couch, and Regent frictionlessly slid to the floor, where he remained.

"It's pretty bad," he called from the floor. "I've had less awkward family reunions."

"I've had less awkward mornings after," Adam chimed in. "And that's considering her dad walked in."

"Fine, _I'll_ do it too. _Pussies,_" she muttered. I quietly gasped at the rare use of language from my typically polite little sister. "Hi everybody, I'm Biohazard." She gave a jaunty little wave.

"Hi, Biohazard," came the monotonous droning reply. I caught the little twitch in the corner of her eye. She sat down bonelessly, and raised a hand to her face.

"Scion, that's really bad," she soullessly intoned. I placed a hand on her shoulder in reassurance.

"To be fair, you came up with it when you were thirteen, and Dad thought it was hilarious."

"I should've known right then. His sense of humor was _awful_."

"So does that mean we never do it again?" I tried to keep the hope out of my voice.

"Nope," Amy immediately replied. "Now that I know how bad it is, I realize what a valuable bonding experience shared trauma can be! The tradition stays." She was met with a chorus of groans from around the room.

"So, Vanny's a Marcher now!" Mycroft cheered.

"We're not calling ourselves Marchers," Amy immediately objected. I gave her a side-eye. "And Vanny sounds _adorable."_ I elbowed her in the side, maybe a little harder than necessary. "Uh, which means only I can say it! Little sister dibs."

"Damn," Mycroft muttered. "You win this time. So is it my turn?" After a nod from Amy, Mycroft stood up. "Hi everybody! I'm Mycroft, and I'll be joining you today. Please be gentle with me," she smirked in my direction, and I fought down a furious blush.

"Hi, Mycroft," we droned. When she didn't collapse into a socially awkward puddle, we all stared in amazement.

"What? I _love _being the center of attention!" I looked on in stunned awe. _A real life extrovert. So they _do _exist!_ "So, V-G, you have a costume?" Her eyes shone with a dangerous twinkle.

"Uh... no?"

"_Perfect!_ That means we get to design one!" She clapped her hands with glee, tapping her feet. _Why do I feel like I've unleashed something awful on myself?_


	4. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE: New Threads

* * *

I felt like an abused barbie doll as my new teammates poked and prodded at me while discussing what cuts of fabric would most flatter my figure. Whether or not to use leather, what colors would best suit me, what overall design to go for. _Everybody_ seemed to have a differing opinion. Amy seemed most interested in making me as edgy as possible, all black with a lot of leather, and I'd need to have a _talk_ with her about just how skimpy some of her ideas were. Regent was getting strangely into it, as well, although he insisted on a chicken suit after my earlier encounter. An armored, black, evil chicken, sure, but _no._ Personally I would have settled for a banana yellow spandex bodysuit if it meant an end to this bizarre torture session. Talking over one another and shoving images on their phones into each other's faces, the chances of a coherent design emerging from this chaos was nil, and I'd rather not end up looking like a mismatched mannequin.

"The team colors are-"

"But we don't have a-"

"We can't do red! That's-"

"Her hair would work great with-"

"Regent, please put a shirt on-"

While Amy paid rapt attention to Mycroft's impromptu fashion seminar and Adam threw clothes at Alec, I snuck out from the center of the group and grabbed a clipboard and pen, plopping down in a beanbag chair to unleash the inner fashionista I desperately hoped was hiding deep inside me. _Very, very deep inside me_, I reflected, recalling with bitter longing the many clothes Amy had thrown out of my closet as though they offended her. Rachel was nearby, on the floor, with what must have been a new rescue dog on her lap, both looking equally disinterested in the goings-on and much more interested in the whole leg of turkey the girl had been keeping in her pocket, currently half-devoured._ Start with the basics, Taylor_. I needed a costume that could get me to be taken seriously. Something that suggested quality, not too loud or flashy, but all the same unique to me. Shoes were obviously out, which left me the options of sandals or going barefoot. _Maybe something military, or armored?_ After all, the name I had chosen, Vanguard, was that of a soldier. An implacable force that carved its way forward, one step at a time. I began to form an idea, an image of my costume. No pants; with my leg structure, a skirt was the obvious choice, as I expected even further changes to come to my body. Laced sandals for my feet, perhaps.

"A dress could-"

"I've _never_ seen her in a-"

"Regent, please put some pants on-"

"This breeze is-"

I was in the zone. Ideas came flying out of my pen, notes scribbled in margins for little features I had thought of. A two-part chest piece made of a sleeveless bodice and leather pauldrons around the neck. Asymmetry to the skirt, sloping down to the left, with a length down to my left knee and up to my right thigh, a shield-like tasset on the exposed leg. Greaves and knee guards, strapped over sandals fit to my weird feet. Full metal armor with gothic touches and a fingerless gauntlet on the right arm, a long silk glove on the left, with lacing along its outer edge. A thick shoulder-cape hanging off to the left, extending down to the hips and covering the left arm, with an attached close-fitted hood. And finally, a lower face mask, fitted to cover everything between my neck and nose, letting my eyes do their cool glowy thing from beneath the hood. Honestly, I was pretty damn proud of the whole ensemble for a ten-minute mockup. The combination of various eras of style appealed to me, a timeless ensemble, speaking of both a violent soldier and an elegant lady. A medieval knight, a Victorian lady, a cloak-and-dagger spy. My newly enhanced femininity had led me recently to appreciate the feminine clothing I could suddenly look good in. _Dad always did place importance on his image._ The thought sobered my good mood, but also left me feeling pleased, as though he approved of my choices so far.

"Mycroft, could you pass the-"

"Hey Vee, does this dress make my butt look-"

"Where's the bleach..."

The scrape of teeth on bone drew me out of my reverie. While Rachel was distracted by Alec's newfound appreciation of his inner woman, the little scrap of a dog she'd brought along had entirely demolished the turkey leg twice his size and was currently enjoying his leftovers. I stood up and walked back over to Amy, who looked as though the meaning of life, the universe, and everything had been revealed to her, and that meaning was _fashion_, as revealed by Mycroft. I patted her shoulder to bring her back to this plane of reality and raised my voice to cut over Alec boasting over his insultingly shapely posterior. "I've got it!" I proudly announced, which apparently was enough of a surprise to get everybody's attention. _Taylor, making fashion choices on her own?! Yes, really, please contain your surprise and horror_. I tore the two pages of mockups I'd made off the clipboard and held them up as proof of my heroic accomplishment. Mycroft and Adam wandered over to peer more closely at it, the former in a critical gaze and the latter with quiet approval. Amy looked back and forth between me and the drawing, struggling to comprehend how her fashion-blind big sister managed to design her own costume. "It's... well- I wanted it to be- that is, it's based on the name-" I grasped for some justification for the odd choices, the mash-up of styles, suddenly defensive over my creation. _Oh god what if it's stupid and they hate it and-_

Mycroft's eyebrows went up and she chuckled lightly to herself. "Oh jeez, girl, you're really overthinking this. No, yeah, it's a good design." She cast another inquisitive look across the drawings. "It's pretty, but not impractical. If I were you, I'd take this down to Parian's Dollhouse and see what she makes of it. It'll cost a pretty penny, but it's not like you can't afford it," she finished with a wink. I flushed with warmth at both her praise and getting caught for freaking out over such a minor thing.

While Rachel looked sullenly at her bare turkey leg (but couldn't seem to bring herself to blame the puppy), Adam and Alec returned into the fray, thankfully both fully clothed. _Although I swear those are bra straps beneath that shirt._.. As opposed to Mycroft's lengthier appraisal, all I got from the male half of the crowd was a quick "Looks good!" before they left the room in pursuit of food now that the present festivities were seemingly concluded. Amy finally accepted that this was, in fact, reality and that the costume was indeed designed by me.

"Tay, this looks_ awesome!_ You're gonna look perfect in this. I think it could use more black leather, personally, but it's gonna look really cool anyways!" My blush ramped it up a notch at her gushing praise, and I looked forward to the day that pointless function of the human body was adapted out of me. "I need to head home and start making dinner, why don't you hang around a bit, maybe stop by Parian's on your way back?"

"Sure thing, see you back home." Giving Amy a hug goodbye, I committed myself to interacting with my new _official _teammates. As I headed for the lobby, however, Mycroft sashayed in front of me.

"So, Vanguard! Gotta shorten that somehow, just doesn't roll off the tongue."

"Just Taylor's fine, really."

"You're awfully open about who you are. Shouldn't you be more concerned about your identity?" Her tone was idly curious, but that challenging smirk never left her lips.

"I don't see the point, really. I'm already forced to be either a hermit or a full-time cape. Why bother concealing my real name when I don't have a regular life?" She nodded, like she'd expected that answer.

"You have a point. But what about Biohazard? You could at least pretend not to be her sister in public. Sure, she can take care of herself as a cape, but outing you as her sister poses some risks to her. Did you ever ask if _she _wanted to be a public cape?" I narrowed my eyes at her, tapping my talons on the floor.

"What is it you want, Mycroft?"

"Just Lisa's fine!" Her smirk briefly shifted into a pretty smile, and she stuck out her hand. "And maybe I just want to get to know my new teammates better."

"I don't believe you." Her hand hung in the air, and her smile twitched before she dropped it and her hand altogether.

"Fine, fine. You want honesty? I'd prefer some privacy, then." I raised my eyebrow but nodded my head towards the spare bedroom Amy and I used occasionally.

"Inviting me into your bedroom before buying me dinner? Gutsy," she winked. I choked down the blush rushing to my face, and tugged her by the wrist into the small room. She plopped down on the mattress and sighed appreciatively at its softness, while I leaned against the door, arms crossed. "I was being truthful, you know. I want to get to know you better."

"Why?" She sighed, and pouted at me. I tried to ignore how that made her lips perfectly plump out.

"Why wouldn't I? You _are _my teammate now. Maybe I'm just the friendly type." I snorted disbelievingly.

"Amy described you as nosy and abrasive. I happen to agree on both points."

"Ouch," she winced. "Can't say you're wrong, though. Funny thing is, I can't really remember if I was like this before my trigger or not. I like to think it's the constant stream of dirty secrets into my brain that makes me a bitch." She blew air through her nose before continuing. "That's actually why I wanted to talk to you. I can't... read you like everybody else. Haven't had to do this 'getting to know you' thing in a long time, now."

"And your best idea for getting to know me was grilling me on my identity?"

"Okay, so I'm a bit rusty! Not my fault."

"Fine. What do you want to know?"

"Oh come on, this isn't an interrogation!" She threw up her hands in frustration. "Can't we just do this like normal people?"

"You're a teenage girl with a handgun and purple spandex, alone in a bedroom with a human-velociraptor hybrid trying to make friends. _Nothing_ about this situation says normal people are involved."

"Quit being so difficult when I'm trying to make friends without using superpowers as a social crutch!" I sighed, uncrossing my arms and sat next to her.

"Fine. Let's just... try this again." I held out my hand to her. "Hi, I'm Taylor. I'm an evil villain working for my gang-leading sister, and I'm in the process of turning into a giant bird. I like hot tea, running, and cute girls." Lisa broke into a smile and gripped my hand between both of hers.

"Hi, I'm Lisa! A down-on-her-luck accidental criminal press-ganged by an evil teenage girl into her hive of scum and villainy. I like coffee, mystery books, and trolling strangers on PHO." I laughed, and tapped her leg with my foot.

"Press-ganged, huh? Accidental criminal?"

"That's certainly what I'll tell the judge!" She laughed with me, and it was a pretty, carefree sound. "So, friends now?"

"Is that how it works?"

"I was kind of hoping you'd know," she admitted, looking as confused as I felt. "Haven't done this in... ever. Let's just roll with it."

"So... what do friends do?"

"What, you've never had friends before?"

"I've had friends!" I wracked my brain for a name. "I have... Amy!"

"She doesn't count!" Lisa crowed, rocking back in laughter. "She's like, chemically _programmed _to be your best friend. _One _friend who isn't enslaved by biology. Come on!"

"...fine, I'm friendless!" I threw up my hands in defeat.

"Not any more, you're not!" She threw an arm around my shoulder, though our height difference quickly led to her settling for hooking it around my arm instead. "I do know _one _think teenage girls everywhere are hardwired to enjoy. Come on!" Lisa jumped off the bed, trying to drag me behind her.

"Where are we going?!" I gave some token resistance, but ended up running along behind her as she flew through the door.

"_Shopping!"_ _Oh, shit._ By the time I tried to dig in my feet, it was too late: Lisa moved like a woman possessed. Alexandria herself couldn't have resisted her strength.


	5. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR: Night on the Town

* * *

Really, this shopping spree wasn't so bad, once I got used to it. This kind of shopping just wasn't done between Amy and I; we'd write lists, get what we need, get out. Easy peasy, half an hour. But this "window shopping"... If the stories about Armsmaster's OCD were true, he'd have an absolute fit over the inefficiency of it all. _How does anybody go shopping without knowing what they want?!_ Lisa, however, was radiating smugness. A Geiger counter could pick up that kind of radiation, it was so intense.

"Hey, you'd look _great_ in this top. You have such perfect skin! Show off a little!" At this point, I knew she was doing this just to get a reaction out of me. The Valley Girl accent she'd adopted was proof enough of that. And she _did _get a reaction out of me; the top in question was more of a bikini than a shirt! I couldn't hide my blush from picturing myself in that. "You know this is for your own good, girl. If you're gonna step into the lime-light, you need some confidence!"

"I _have_ confidence! I'm _absolutely confident_ that I will _never_ wear that- that piece of string! Confidence and modesty are not mutually exclusive, y'know," I snarked.

Lisa was dragging me along the boardwalk, hand in hand, although we looked less like a couple or a pair of friends so much as a kidnapping in progress. While I saw an ice cream vendor or a used book store, she'd tug me right along past it and straight into Bimbo Boutique. Thankfully, even she turned up her nose at some of the outfits available. Already, she'd picked out two separate complete ensembles for me and another for herself, while I'd reluctantly chosen an outfit of my own with some assistance. Of course, as the minor Brute between the two of us, I unwillingly volunteered my pack-mule services.

"None of this will even fit me in a month, you know. I'll outgrow it and rip it to shreds!"

"So you're saying we'll get to do this again next month? _Perfect!" Give up, Taylor. There is no escape._

The sun was setting to the west, casting long shadows across the wooden decks of the Boardwalk beneath an orange sky. While a few tourists could be spotted here and there, mostly it was just the Enforcers standing around and Lisa making a spectacle of the two of us. "We've spent _two hours_ shopping for clothes! I think we both have enough, now can we _please_ head to Parian's? The Dollhouse isn't open all night."

After a dramatic huff and sigh, Lisa replied, "_Fiiiine_, I guess we should get to that now. But don't think this is over! Someday, somehow, I'm gonna get you into one of those stores and you're gonna _like it_." And she was probably already formulating an insidious Thinker plot to do just that, going by her sadistic smirk. But she did relent, and we made our way to the Dollhouse, home to the rogue Parian.

While Dad had really cracked down on any upstart gangs, especially a bunch of druggies that tried to move in a few years back, he'd actually been very protective of rogue capes. _They're good for business, good for the city, and it's one less cape for our enemies to throw at us if we can ensure their independence, _he'd told me. While many rogues were initially suspicious of his generosity, it became clear over time that the only favors he expected were peace and free shipping. Over time, the area around the Boardwalks and Lord's Market had become a haven for business-minded tinkers and cape performance artists. In fact, we here in Brockton Bay had the country's highest population of nonviolent capes in one city. We probably also had the highest number of _violent_ capes as well, but that's beside the point. Dad made that happen, and Amy kept the tradition.

We came up to the front of the Dollhouse, a pastel pink establishment with white trim that really did look like an old-school dollhouse, where we found Parian in costume, levitating a broom to clean up the front while she leaned against a wall. I bit my lip and refrained from humming a tune at the sight. When she caught sight of the two of us, she perked up and the broom dropped to the floor. "Oh! Uhm, hi there, girls, I'm afraid performances end at 5:00, but if you're here to shop, I'd love to show you around?" She clasped her hands behind her back and quickly assumed a more professional stance. Lisa nudged me forward.

"Actually, we're here to, ah, _request_ a certain outfit I had in mind," I spoke up. Her eyes lit up in understanding behind the admittedly pretty creepy porcelain doll mask.

"Oh! Then you're... of course. Well, that's certainly within the services I offer, yes. Why don't you come inside and we can talk details?" While it wasn't well known to the general public, Parian did supply capes nation-wide with high quality costumes. None of it was as good as, say, a suit of power armor, but her power enabled her to work with just about any light materials, including knife-resistant fabrics and smaller armor plates. It also went without saying that she strictly adhered to the unspoken rules; namely, she kept the identities of any and all clients in absolute confidentiality. Were any individual dumb enough to try to get that information out of her, every gang in the city would come down hard on them, just to protect their own secrets. It was quite a form of insurance, really.

Parian held the door for the two of us, and Lisa's eyes immediately lit up at the sight of so many beautiful dresses, tops, skirts, and so many other hand-made clothes and accessories. Admittedly, a lot of it really appealed to me, but for a fashionista like her, this must be heaven. "I knew you were good, but this is my first time actually _seeing _it! If mine ever gets damaged, I'm _so _coming here for a replacement..." I couldn't tell whether or not Parian blushed at the praise, but there was a faint impression of a smile beneath her mask.

"I'll keep an eye out for your request, then! Everything you see here is absolutely unique; I never make the same thing twice. But you're not here for that, are you?"

I nodded in agreement, and took out the drawing I'd made earlier, with rough measurements and materials listed. "I have a general idea of what I want, and I really like it, but a lot of the finer details I'm just not sure about. Heck, I haven't even picked out a color!"

Parian took the paper I'd offered her, and cast an eye over it. "Hmm, well it's definitely a unique design; I doubt any other cape could accuse you of being a knockoff of them. Why don't you tell me a little about what theme you're going for, here?"

"I know it's a mish-mash of a bunch of different styles, and maybe it doesn't really fit together, but that's intentional. I'm a sort of Changer, and so far there's no real _theme_ to my power. Really, I wanted something feminine, but dangerous and unpredictable." Really, I thought I'd struck a pretty nice balance between the two. If I ran into a cape in that outfit in an alley, I'd have no idea what to expect.

"I notice there's a lot of strange details for inhuman anatomy, but it still is sized to human proportions. The choice to armor your upper body but leave your legs almost completely bare... I take it your Changer form doesn't have human feet?" I pulled my foot out of my sandal and wiggled it to get her attention. "Huh, you can use your power on select body parts? No, no details, sorry. Still, if you want my advice, I think I can make something custom that'll fit better and offer better protection than sandals. The greaves are fine, though, I can work with that." Her pencil flew over the paper, changing small details here and there. Really, I was fine with her changing it. That's why we were here, after all. "The hood is a nifty idea, but I feel almost personally offended that it hides your hair! No, this will have to change." I opened my mouth to protest, but a single look with vaguely murderous intent from both girls made it close. _Huh, guess some people really would kill for great hair._ The hood on paper went from a close-fitting cowl to a widespread, much roomier design that I could part my hair through. "That's that tragedy averted. I have to say, though, there's a lot of loose material here. It's not out of the question for something to get snagged or grabbed, so if you really want to keep it that way, I hope you're a mover with good reflexes." I nodded in confirmation, and she seemed satisfied.

The next half hour went by relatively quickly. Lisa offered a few ideas, which Parian seemed to actually appreciate, while I watched the two work their magic to turn my rough idea into a thing of beauty. All in all, we were mostly done here. "So," Parian began, "Most of this I can actually complete right here in a few hours, but the metal will have to be done by a colleague of mine. He does good work, but it'll take at least two days for him to finish and send it here. I can have the complete outfit here at the store for you to pick up, or have it delivered. What's your preference?"

Oh boy, I could not pass up this opportunity. Lisa must have seen something in my face, because she preemptively snorted in laughter before I replied with a toothy grin, "Women." Parian _really_ didn't expect that, as the pencil snapped in her hand and she let out a small _eep_. "Also, I'll pick it up here, if that's okay." She hastily nodded, before stammering out _that's fine_, and quickly stood up.

She practically pushed us out as she said, "_Okay-see-you-then-bye!"_ in rapid-fire nervous staccato, and slammed the door. Lisa and I stood there in bewilderment at the sudden exit.

"Wow, homophobe much?" I asked. Really, in this day and age, just rude. Lisa just facepalmed.

* * *

_Parian_

_Oh god oh god oh god! _was all she could think. _There's a gay cape in the city who ISN'T a Nazi, she's super pretty, and I just slammed the door in her face!_ Parian removed her mask once she got up into the loft, and became Sabah. She fanned her face with the mask to cover the intense blush. "It's okay, Sabah, she'll be back in a few days and you can apologize!" Oh, she'd apologize alright. Get down on her knees and kiss those feet if she had to. As soon as that image popped into her head, she remembered what those feet actually _looked_ like and reconsidered. _I might have a foot fetish, but that's just begging to have my eye poked out._ Still, she knew what _she_ was doing tonight.

* * *

"One last thing, and then I'll let you go!" Honestly, this was the part I was most looking forward to. _Toys!_ Amy would probably give me a lecture on safety and proper usage if she heard me say so, though. "Yup, _weapons_. And, like, flashlights I guess, although you _could_ use that as a weapon too. Oh, wait, can you see in the dark?" I nodded; that change came pretty early. I thought I'd woken up late when I noticed it was as bright as daytime. Lisa _huff_ed. "Of course you can. At least you can't fly, or I'd really start feeling useless. Still, other things we need to get you."

The one-stop-shop for any cape tools in Brockton Bay was, of course, The Forge. Run by a local Tinker by the name of Gizmo, The Forge carried all sorts of odds and ends for cape life. Nobody really knew what Gizmo's specialization was, maybe it really was "cape life stuff". He sold weapons, armor, vehicles, and more gadgets than you could shake a stick at. Seriously, your arm would get _really_ tired if you tried. Since I was actually looking forward to this quite a lot, I ended up pulling Lisa this time. Oh, how the tables have turned. "Ooh, do you think I can get a grappling gun? What about an invisibility cloak? Or, or a lightsaber!" Seriously, Gizmo sold some _cool_ stuff. And it was all one-of-a-kind, and hyper-durable.

"I take it you've only read what PHO says about Gizmo?" I didn't see where she was going with this, but I nodded. "Figures. Well, Gizmo's store isn't like most others. You don't buy things from him; _he_ sells things to _you._" What? What does that even mean? Is he super Russian? "He hand-makes everything in his store, and no two things do the exact same thing. So he's careful about what he sells, and who he sells it to. You'll tell him your powers, in as much or little detail as you like, and a little about yourself, and he'll find what fits you best. And he's damn good at it, or so I've heard. It's my first time there too. Thank your little sister for her big wallet later, 'kay?"

Of course she joined for the corporate spending card. Why else would anybody join a criminal empire? "I'm too pumped to hold that against you, so yeah, sure, let's get you some toys too." Lisa snorted at the mention of _toys_ again. I was excited, dammit!

We came upon a larger brick warehouse, the only real "decoration" being several large chimneys spewing black smoke (apparently, that was eco-friendly Tinkertech) and a hand-painted sign that plainly stated "Gizmo's Forge" above the front entrance. We made our way inside, and it looked like an auto-repair shop. Hydraulic lifts, bright lights, concrete floors, and lots and _lots_ of Tinkertech gadgets.

An impressively deep voice called out from the back, "Customers?!" before its source came running out from the back. And... huh. That's Gizmo. Perhaps three and a half feet tall, a little pudgy, and a _very_ bushy salt-and-pepper beard beneath a shiny bald head and a pair of goggles. _Guess he doesn't care if the beard catches fire?_ "Ah, newbies! What can I getcha?" That deep voice... where does it come from?

"Are you a..." Lisa elbowed me _hard_ before I could finish saying _dwarf_. Honestly, I couldn't help myself. Tiny bearded blacksmith, do the math.

Apparently Lisa was too late, as Gizmo had already guessed what I was going to say. "_No,_ I'm not a _dwarf_, or a _leprechaun_, or a _hobbit_! I'm a fucking midget, and I have siege cannons that'll leave you in orbit with the fucking Smurf if you forget it!" Sheesh, that voice could get scary. And loud.

"Sorry, Mr. Gizmo. I'm 16 and have horrible impulse control." I offered a weak excuse in desperate hope that he would still sell me _toys._

"Ah, 's'fine, girlie. Y'think you're the first to come in here and mouth off? Capes just get younger and younger; old men like me just deal with it. Takes more'n that to get under my skin." _Oh thank sweet Scion_. He beckoned us further into the shop, his legs a blur to keep ahead of our longer pace. "So, if y'don' know how I work, _I_ sell to _you._ No requests, no refunds, _no complaining_. I sell damn good stuff and I know it. You get what you get, and be happy about it." Not the best sales tactic, but when you sell unique, top-of-the-line Tinkertech, you probably have to beat off customers with a stick. Which he does. "So tell me about yourself, anythin' y'think is relevant. Your power, how you fight, your goals, anything. And be honest or I'll probably just sell you a whoopie cushion. A _Tinkertech_ whoopie cushion that replicates smell." Shit, he can do that?! And he'd probably make it nearly indestructible and DragonTooth enabled just because he can, too.

"O-okay, uhm, I go by Vanguard. My body just gets better over time, in random ways. So far I'm a little faster, stronger and tougher than a baseline human, but nothing really unique so far. I've only been in one fight so far, although I've been practicing barehanded with...a partner, and that fight I mostly won by luck, except in the end it was more of a tie... If I had to say right now, I'd say my best bet in a fight is to hit and run. I'm strong and fast enough to make that effective. But I don't want to cause any permanent damage, or anything. My biggest goal right now is to protect somebody important, and I'm not strong enough yet to do that. I picked the name because it's a soldier, but also a pioneer. They're the first in, last out, get shit done type, and that's what I want to be." I tied up my little speech, hoping that was good enough. Lisa snorted at my attempts to keep Amy a secret, I mean how many people around town had a nearly six-foot white-haired velociraptor for a sister? _Yup, my little sis is one of a kind!_

Lisa cleared her throat before starting her own story. "Mycroft, I'm a Thinker, can pick up clues from a little information and deduce a whole lot more information from it. I use a pistol, but I've never had to actually shoot somebody before. I'm not that strong or intimidating, so I need something to help me do my thing without getting squished. I don't really fight, I'm support if anything. And my only goals are to make money, have fun, and stay free." Huh. She struck me as a much more complex person than that, but if that's all she wanted to say... hopefully it'd be enough for Gizmo to do his thing.

"Alright, chatterboxes, all I really needed was _Changer, not an asshole,_ but that'll do. Gimme a sec." With that he quickly strode off towards the shelves and... were those stilts? He activated hydraulic stilts and _where is he keeping all of that_ and dashed back and forth, grabbing seemingly random things. Some of the things he grabbed, he pondered over before tossing into a corner, some of them he ate, a few he put into a hovering cart that had flown to his side. Finally, he came back down to ground level and wiped some peanut butter from the corner of his moustache. "Here we go," he proudly stated, before depositing the contents of the cart.

"...Uh, Mr. Gizmo... what exactly is this stuff? I-I mean what does any of it do?" He scoffed and mumbled _amateurs_ beneath his breath before separating items from the pile and holding one out for inspection.

"This here is for you, Vanguard. Reconfigurable melee weapon." It was a cylinder, perhaps eight inches long and fairly thin, made of an off-white substance. "_Long,"_ he commanded, and it shot out to a full six feet. "_Shield,"_ he said next, and the pole retracted before unfurling into a buckler. "Voice activated, only responds to a confirmed owner; I took the liberty of already registerin' you. Good luck breakin' it, 'cause you won't. It's got a few other tricks up its sleeve, but I ain't holdin' your damn hand and you seem smart enough." He retracted the shield before setting the compact version down, and picked up a pair of binoculars. He tossed it to Lisa, who cheerily caught it and instantly went to look through it.

"Specialized for surveillance. Those lookers'll automatically read lips, see through some solid objects, record whatever you like, _and_ they do _this_!" He beckoned her to hand it back, and she reluctantly did. He twisted one lens clockwise, and the contraption...shrank in on itself, before resolving into a pair of aviator sunglasses. "_Stealth mode!_ Made it to look at ladies in the park." I choked on that. "I'll be sad to see 'em go, but you need 'em more." The sunglasses expanded back into the full binoculars. "O'course, stealth mode can't use all of its features, otherwise I'd've just made the damn sunglasses." He left the sunglasses on the counter, and moved on to the next item. It was... a backpack. It was a backpack. A Tinkertech backpack?

"Yours, Mike. 's bigger on the inside. It'll charge whatever gadgets you put in it, acts as a wireless hotspot, and it'll keep food fresh for _days_. Oh, and it's got radio. And gyroscopic cupholders." My God, was I jealous. Lisa looked like the cat that caught the canary. _It's okay, I got a stick. A reconfigurable stick._ "I see your sourpuss look, girlie. Santa's gotcha covered." He picked up the last item on the counter. "I actually made this for a Case 53 buddy o'mine, big ugly tentacly fucker, but the damn Big Rock Deadly Mountain fried him. No calamari jokes, 's disrespectful." It was a broad-faced watch with a woven metal band. "Yeah, it shows time, but _put it on!"_

I did so, and there was a sharp pain in my wrist for a moment. _Did that watch just _bite_ me?!_ I took another look at the face of the watch, and noticed the lack of buttons around it. "_Hello there,"_ a silky Australian woman's voice spoke. My eyebrows shot up and I looked alarmedly at Gizmo. "'S a VI, nothin' to worry about. Knew a fella who did AI, died years back. Worked with another fella in Boston on this, a biotinker, back before that kiddo gave 'em a bad name. You said you didn't really know what your power's doin' to you, this'll tell you. It injected a few nanites into you- again, nothin' to worry about, but they'll keep track o' your innards. Not really useful in a fight, but it's peace o' mind, less worry that your body ain't yours any more." This... This was perfect. Amy was having trouble reading me, but maybe this could get around that, as part of my body? Far be it from me to question Tinkertech; it works because a Tinker said so. "Also the voice is right sexy." I sputtered again.

"J-just how much is this stuff?" I was over the moon right now, but this guy was gonna drive me crazy.

"Twenty-five thou, watch is half off. Nobody else'll ever need it, I wager." That actually seemed like a reasonable price for _just_ the watch, in my mind.

"Done," Lisa and I said at the same time. With that, we picked up our purchases, and Lisa took me home.

After dinner with Amy, we both talked about just how crazy today was. My first fight, jumping right in to cape life, all these _decisions_. And the people in this town, the kind people. Parian, making a living with needle and thread, entertaining children. Gizmo, I could tell he had a soft heart. He made that watch to give his friend some control in his life. And he could have charged me _anything_ for it, and I'd pay it. I _needed_ that control right now. If it were up to the Protectorate, those rogues would be pressganged into a war they didn't want to fight. Dad stopped that, Amy carried it on, and I'd support her every step of the way. Amy and I made our way to bed content and weary, and I was out like a light.

_She and I, together? We got this shit._


	6. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE: One Step Forward

* * *

_Biological Weapons Storage Facility, Location Undisclosed, 20XX_

_ "Rise 'n shine, mutt!" Shocking cold. Water splashed across my nude body, chained with thick, heavy lengths of Tinkered metal to concrete, a muzzle across my face. "You're going hunting." A lever is pulled, releasing most of the chains. A long pole with a hoop is set around my neck, spikes within tearing at my skin as I'm pulled from the wall. Two guards with large rifles aimed at my head stand behind a third man, the Warden. I'm led from my cell, past the other Weapons. They aren't as useful as me, aren't treated as well. My legs stumble from disuse, and the needles dig dangerously into my throat, leaving marks to join the rest of the scars. "Hurry th' fuck up!" A mild shock runs through my body; I pretend it hurts worse than it does so they don't increase the voltage again._

_ Down the hall, past the stares of other Mutts. Into the cargo elevator. My chains are reconnected to a bolt on the floor. Up, up the hundred subterranean floors. I'm allowed to move again once the lift stops. More halls, twisting and turning now. Large bay doors mark the facility entrance, their ten tons of weight screeching open before us. Outside, a desert. It's night, but I can see fine. See the armored vehicles, the soldiers making rounds. There's a woman standing in the fenced yard, in front of a larger truck. Black tie, wearing sunglasses, hands behind her back. Utterly emotionless._

_ "Weapon Platform Fatal Tiger. You are to be deployed to Ellisburg. The convoy will take you to the outer walls, and you are to infiltrate the city, find Nilbog, and kill him. You have four hours from start before an artillery strike is called in. You are acceptable collateral." Without another word, she enters the passenger door to the freighter truck. My handler for the night. The rear door to the truck is raised, and I'm led inside, chained once more. I feel the suspension fight against my weight as I test my bonds. _

_ Ellisburg, then. Goblin Town. I'd overheard how Nilbog was expanding his army once more, creatures more monstrous than myself. But not stronger, no. Nilbog would be bunkered down, likely deep in the cave system beneath the city he'd claimed as his own. I'm to be the needle to lance the boil, the artillery strike to clean up any mess. The truck starts up, and I curl up on the floor, huddling my tail for warmth._

* * *

_ Hours later, I'm released from the truck into predawn light, eyes adjusting quickly to the sight of massive concrete walls studded with watchtowers, spotlights sweeping both sides. On the opposite side is a constant thrum of noise, the baying of a large crowd at a festival. I'm led to an open elevator bolted to the wall, chained once more to the base as it slowly rises up the steep concrete face. Men in fatigues part nervously before me as my handler goes to find whoever's in charge. Again, I'm released from my chains, this time the harness and muzzle are released as well. Soldiers surround me, guns trained on me as I'm led to the edge of the wall to look down on the city below._

_ It's an orgy of lust and violence. Creatures openly fucking in large groups, occasionally being pulled back by a larger monster to be used, eaten or beaten. Fights are cheered on around fire barrels, off-colored blood staining every available surface. Cooking fires are propped up on corners, with the occasional spit-roast rotating above them holding the leg of some other creature. I could smell the rotting meat, body fluids and excrement from hundreds of feet above. My handler returns, looping her arm around my waist, as high as she can reach. I repress the urge to tear it off; it won't end well for me. "Monsters, huh," she comments, still emotionless. "You'll fit right in, I bet. Probably won't even notice you're here. Sic 'em, girl!" She shoved me off the wall, and I'm left to free-fall into the city._

_ At first, I was just another part of the chaos. I looked more human than most here, but the violence I waded into the crowds with wasn't unusual to my surroundings. Biting and clawing, ripping off any limb that came too close, shoving my way over the smaller creatures, I was but one more monster indulging in excess. However, eventually I'd killed too many to be ignored, and the determination with which I made my way to the city center made my goal clear. Soon enough, the crowd I'd found myself surrounded with was focused solely on me, the screaming of the crowd reaching a higher pitch of alarm and fury. _

_ Large, quadrupedal lumps of flesh on rooftops spotted me, and spat out lances of bone. I weaved through them, letting the projectiles pin less agile creatures around me, while others shattered against my body. A few found my more tender areas where they lodged deep into me, but the bleeding would staunch soon enough. Insectile fliers swooped overhead, vomiting some toxic mess below them, uncaring as it landed on the unwashed masses surrounding me. The sound and smell of sizzling, burnt flesh was everywhere as the apparently acidic mixture worked its way through the horde. I felt it on my scalp and face, clumps of hair and skin falling away. My right eye went dark, and I felt momentarily unbalanced before unfurling the sensory organs along my spine. Obese, squat manlings darted around me, screaming in pain as their too-long arms streamed behind them. I dropped to my hands and feet for the added mobility and sprinted along, tail whipping through the necks of the nearest enemies. A larger ogre-like monster approaching myself in size went to tackle me to the floor, launching his prodigious mass into the sky. I leapt up to meet him, maw wide open to catch his head between my jaws. I wrenched my body to the side to tear it off, and spat out the foul meat before crushing more of the smaller goblins beneath my feet upon landing, and dashed onward._

_ For every dozen I killed, another hundred monsters charged into the fray. Two miles into the city, I carved a bloody path to the mouth of a massive hole dug into the ground. The sun had risen higher into the sky, glinting off sweaty flesh, hard chitin and broken glass all around me. I'd been forced to slow down as my own injuries accumulated, outpacing my ability to heal them. Making my way through the never-ending army, I caught sight of massive, four-legged spider-like creatures patrolling the edge of the cavern entrance, each leg larger and thicker than my body. Cannon-like organs attached below their abdomens twisted to point at me, and blasted out a thick white substance with the intensity of a fire hydrant. I was too exhausted to properly dodge, and a large clump of the material caught my leg, instantly adhering it to the ground. Immobilized, I was dogpiled by the horde, creatures both large and small latching onto me to drag me downwards._

_ More of the white stuff was sprayed liberally across my arms and legs, binding me tightly as I was dragged deeper into the cavern by ogres. The sun was blocked from sight by sweaty bodies, fatty and muscular and gaunt all at once. Deeper into the dark I was dragged until entering a larger ampitheatre, my own blood marking the bath I was taken along. The largest of the ogres threw some of the smaller creatures off of me before positioning himself over my trapped body. I was already nude; there was no defense between he- it was certainly and painfully obviously a he- and I. I knew his intentions, I'd seen plenty of it from the wall. He placed a large hand around my throat, pressing my body into the ground as I writhed to do something, anything to kill this monster or myself. I needn't have worried though, because just then I felt the thrum through the ground of the beginning of the artillery strike. Never had I been so grateful to be acceptable collateral as I was when the first wave of explosions washed over me, boiling the flesh from my bones._

* * *

_Brockton Bay, February 2011_

I shuddered awake, clutching my tail closer to my body as the last memories of the nightmare seeped out of my consciousness. "_Good morning, mum,_" came the quiet chirp my watch. "_You had a nightmare. If you'd like to talk about it, I can download a therapy suite."_ Always helpful, she was. I rolled over to peek at Amy, who was still fast asleep judging by the snores. I'd never told her how badly she snored; that way, I could always tell when she faked sleeping. Frankie blearily blinked up at me with his cyclopean eye from between my cleavage, and I shrugged the cozy slimeball off into my hand.

"No thanks, Sheila," I mumbled back, making my way quietly out of bed and along to the bathroom. Why Gizmo had set the VI to only respond to Sheila, I had no idea. "It wasn't anything new." An understanding _hmm_ answered me. I winced at the _clack_ of my nails on the linoleum as I closed the bathroom door behind me, peeling off my sweat-soaked pajamas. I hopped into the shower, remembering to keep the temperature down after Amy scolded me for wasting all of it for the past few days. _You can't even feel the difference any more!_ she'd said. _Maybe I can't, but cold showers just aren't human._ Then again, I'd been looking less human every day.

"_I've identified multiple developments in your body over the night, would you like a detailed report?" _I could feel some additional weight here and there, some subtle changes in how my body moved, but Sheila's reports had a way of helping me come to terms with my body beyond just noticing differences.

"Yes, please," I replied, and a small blue hologram floated above the watch face, a ten-inch representation of my body with certain areas highlighted in red. _Mostly internal changes today, then_.

"_I'll start with the minor developments then, mum. Your height has reached 195 centimetres- that is, six feet four inches. My current models cannot predict your eventual maximum height yet. Your weight is-" _I slapped the watch face before it could continue. "-_my apologies. Your musculoskeletal system has seen continued improvement. Without testing, best estimates indicate a 150% increase over peak human performance."_ I'd noticed the hard outline of muscles beneath my skin becoming more defined over the past few days, although I wasn't sure how much of that was actually muscle versus the bone plating I'd been growing. As though following my trail of thought, Sheila continued, "_The subdermal armor miss Amelia first noticed has reached 30% total body coverage, concentrated upon your upper torso, forearms, and thighs. Current thickness is 1.5 centimetres, with an average density at 230% that of the human skull. Your tail has reached a length of 80 centimetres, and I've identified a series of bone spurs along the length." _I ran a finger along the long, sinuous limb, feeling how it tapered from as thick as my wrist to as slender as a pinkie, and noticed the spurs she'd mentioned. Spaced evenly along the latter half, they laid flat along the skin unless I flexed to raise them, and were sharp enough to cut my finger when pressed against it.

"_As you can see, however, the majority of identified developments are internal. Your brain activity continues to rise, and I no longer have any suitable scale to compare it to. Roughly, you may expect an easier time multitasking, reacting to stimuli, and a general increase in mental acuity. So far as scans can tell, you no longer operate on a hormone system, instead operating on a combination of electric impulses and an unidentified thermal regulation system. Current models suggest a massive increase in reaction speed and precision, along with an immunity to a wide variety of drugs and poisons targeting the hormonal system. Furthermore, your cellular structure has continued to evolve into an uncategorized structure of more uniform, undifferentiated cells capable of adapting spontaneously to a wide variety of tasks. While such is outside of my programmed expertise, possible applications include the development of a healing factor and limited shapeshifting. I've identified a natural ability to generate, amplify and direct electric currents and thermal energy as well. While your brain continues to house the vast majority of your nervous system, each individual cell may function as a sort of neuron, totally eliminating any delay between stimulus and response."_

That actually sounded pretty great, although I'd probably be flinching a lot if I couldn't get a handle on reacting to every little thing instantaneously. Also... taser cells? It sounded like I had taser cells. I concentrated on my hand for a moment, picturing the energy stored within and between every cell. _There!_ I felt an itch beneath my skin, growing and pulsing along my arm, down every cord of muscle, right up to my brain. It felt like my skin was going to peel off, and there were flashes of blue and red between and along my veins. The thrumming built up and up, before I saw a wide arc of blue leap off my palm- straight up the water pouring down my body, and into the faucet with a loud _POP! _Immediately, the wall behind the spigot was flash-burned black, and the loud _beep-beep-beep_ of a fire alarm sounded.

"_Waaagh!" _came the startled, suddenly awake cry of Amy, bolting out of bed with a scream and into the kitchen, presumably for the fire extinguisher. Smoke and steam was wafting through the bathroom from the now-disabled shower, and Frankie stared up at me from the sink counter with a wide, confused eye. I heard Amy run up to the bathroom door before pausing, and the door was torn off its hinges by a cluster of thorny vines. There stood my savior, potted plant in one hand and fire extinguisher in the other, panicked eyes meeting my own embarrassed ones. Her head darted this way and that, looking for whatever blaze threatened our lives, before she caught sight of the blackened wall and my still-sparking blue hand. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Please tell me it's an invisible fire and I _wasn't woken up for nothing!" _she seethed.

"It's an invisible fire and you weren't woken up for nothing...?" I cautiously replied. That plant was looking dangerous in her hand.

"_Actually, miss Amelia, your sister is now an electrokinetic. Unfortunately, she realized this in the presence of running water." _Amy and I both glared daggers at my watch, both for different reasons. I begain thudding the traitorous band of metal against the tiled walls. "_This is a violation of my warranty-"_

Amy depressed the nozzle on the fire extinguisher, spraying my still-soaking body with white foam. "_Let me fucking sleep in for once!" _she screeched (elegantly, if anybody asked).

Sheila, who lacked the basic human ability to read the mood, piped up, "_Actually, miss Amelia, you achieved a full eleven hours of sleep. As a medical device, I'm concerned-"_ I resumed thudding the watch against the tile from beneath the foam.

Amy had dropped to her knees, pitifully moaning. "Just for once, a peaceful morning! I'll give up my life of crime, change my ways! Just make it stop, God!" Immediately abandoning her newfound faith, she pointed an accusing finger at me. "It's _you!_ You have some insidious Shaker power which curses mornings! You're a toxic influence on this household!"

Sheila, who badly needed a _mute _function, chirped out, "_Actually, miss Amelia, she's venomous, as of this morning! You see, the difference is-" _Warranty be damned, I wanted to break this watch now.

* * *

My breakfast was cold bacon and untoasted toast with a glass of water, while Amy had made herself blueberry pancakes with whipped cream and orange juice. My stomach rumbled at the beautiful stack of sugary, syrupy goodness. At my heartbroken expression, she viciously muttered, "You're an _electrokinetic,_ Taylor, _cook it yourself!_ Maybe burn the house down while you're at it!" Suffice it to say, I'd woken the wrong villain. The shower and wall repair would be coming out of my share of the Marche's monthly check, and apparently out of my breakfast rations as well. I knew she'd more or less let it go after a cup of coffee, though.

True to fashion, one coffee mug later and Amy was back to business. "Your costume should be ready today. I figure you can pick it up yourself since you know where it is?" I nodded behind my own cup of tea. "Mmh. When you get back, I was thinking we'd have a meeting about what our plan is with you and Lisa. The other gangs won't take our expansion quietly." I'd been wondering what she intended to do about it, but it was good to know Amy had a plan. With over a dozen capes in the Empire and two in the ABB, the Marche occupied a comfortable middle ground in terms of cape power. However, we had far more public support on account of not being racist murderers or sex traffickers. While the Protectorate would likely always win in terms of PR, the Marche wasn't afraid to get dirty protecting our community. We were like an incredibly violent, super-powered neighborhood watch, but with drugs and hookers. Well-paid, protected and willing hookers, mind. While the "heroes" paraded down the city reminding everybody that Nazis were bad, Amy and her followers, both parahuman and mundane, would be the ones to actually demonstrate what happened to racists and bigots in our city. Specifically, they got chicken pox and busted windows.

"Kaiser's going to want some assurance we won't expand our territory as well, and Lung's going to want to know if we found anybody worth fighting. And _no,_ that's not an invitation to give him exactly that. Not yet, at least," she said with a wink. Ever since she gave him E.D. for a month, Lung had stayed clear of the Marche. Not out of fear, but because we didn't fight fair, and thus weren't worth fighting. If he knew about me, the rage dragon would likely hunt me down and imprison me until I was strong enough to be a challenge. "More on that later, though. You aren't ready for a fight, and I need to fix that. I figure Adam will be the most help there; Rachel would never let you use puppies for target practice, and he's the only one of us who can actually keep up with you. Maybe Lisa knows a few tricks, I'll have to ask."

"I might be one of you ne'er-do-wells officially now, but there's no way in hell I'll be kicking puppies any time soon. Adam, though; I can definitely hit Adam," I smirked. Amy hid her giggle behind her cup. "I figured I'd just whack people really hard with that magic stick from Gizmo, really," I admitted. Amy's giggle dropped and she put on her 'serious face'.

"Taylor, you're a Brute. You whack somebody hard enough and they'll be shitting out their own ribs." Oh. Oh god, where's the brain bleach? "Gross-sounding, yeah, but serious. There's only one para healer in the city, and she's with the Empire. People won't just 'get better' when you hurt them. Break a wrist or a rib, sure, but... Sheila, how strong is Taylor right now, exactly?"

"_Approximately 150% greater than peak human capability, miss Amelia."_

Amy looked thoughtful for a second. "Is that male or female peak?"

"_Based off world records, which are predominantly set by males."_

She nodded at that, but looked even more concerned, really. "And there you have it. We're getting you training on how _not_ to permanently maim somebody. Thinking more on it, I don't think Adam's the best long-term idea. You're shaping up to be a heavy hitter, you need better training than any of us can give you. I'll put out some feelers for cape help, but in the mean time there's a self-defense studio downtown, not in anybody's territory, either. The owner plays by the rules, and I can negotiate some one-on-one lessons." The way she said it made it clear this was a done deal. Well, I knew better than to argue with the Teen Tyrant. Amy wrote down the address for me.

We finished our meals, and I hugged Amy bye before setting out on my errands.

* * *

_Hopefully she's in a better mood today,_ I thought, as I walked up to the door of the Dollhouse. I pulled my scarf higher over the bridge of my nose. Today there was a small crowd of children and their respective guardians crowded around the building, watching Parian's latest skit. She was giving stuffed unicorn rides to the younger girls, while a larger gorilla allowed itself to be used like a swing set. I waved from the back of the crowd, and the doll-girl took a few more pictures with the children before directing the parents to various displays to be helped by other employees before greeting me. "H-hey, uh, Vanguard! If you'll just follow me, please?" She gestured deeper into the store, beyond the prying eyes of shoppers and workers alike. I nodded, and followed her into her private workshop.

On the other side of the door, after closing it, she stopped me, wringing her hands with her head bowed. "About the other day, I, uh, wanted to-"

"Please don't apologize," I interrupted with a raised hand. "I don't expect everybody to agree with my lifestyle, and maybe I was too up-front with it, but-"

"Wait, what?" She reverse-interrupted. "Oh. OH! Oh my god, you think I'm a homophobe?!" I wasn't sure where she was going with this, but... I nodded, my confusion apparent. She raised her hand to cover her mouth, but it was useless in hiding her laugh. "Ahahahaha! Oh God, it probably did look that way, huh? I was worried you hated me, but.." Okay, now I really was confused. "Dude, I'm gay."

Oh. _Ohhhhh._ "So you..."

"Overreacted at hearing there's a really pretty cape in town who likes women and isn't a Nazi? Yeppp," she popped her p's. "Pretty sure Rune's gay, but not my, or any sane woman's, type. _You_, on the other hand..." Aaaaand _there's _my blush.

"Slow down there, doll-girl," as I put my hands up for distance between us. "It takes more than pretty clothes and nice words to get me out of my pants." _Even if they're _really_ pretty clothes..._ The girl deflated a bit before me and clutched her hands closer to her chest, and I felt a bit like I'd just kicked a puppy. "Anyways, ah, costume? I've been really looking forward to seeing your work." She quickly perked back up, and pulled up a heavy-looking plastic case from beneath a table strewn with sketches and fabrics. With a _hmmph! _of effort, she plopped it down on the table and popped the lid, revealing an absolute masterpiece.

"You didn't have any colors picked out, and really _what the fuck who does that_, so I took the liberty of choosing them out for you." The little fashionista buried deep inside me cried at the criticism, but I couldn't complain at the results. The ensemble was a mix of deep blues and lighter cloudy grays, with black lace along the hem and burnished silver metal. She'd carried through on her promise of improved footwear, with shiny sabatons built into the shin guards, and there were leather soles with holes cut out for my toes. "The fabric isn't really Tinkertech, despite how the PRT classifies me, but it _is_ well-made and high-quality material, which can probably stop your average knife. The metal, on the other hand, was done by Adamant down south. It's rated for armor-piercing rounds, but I'd personally suggest just not getting shot at, especially since it's not covering any vitals. Also, the fabric needs to be hand-washed!" She passed me a little list with laundry instructions, which came with very handy advice on removing blood and wine stains.

I ran an admiring hand along the fabric, amazed at how soft yet durable it felt beneath my fingers. Parian stood there quietly, waiting for a reaction. "I love it." The words didn't feel adequate at all. "I- really, thank you. It's perfect." I could feel her proud smile from beneath her mask. "Can I try it on?"

"Oh, of course! Here, let me show you to the changing room." I followed her behind a ceiling-high shoe display, and there was a curtained-off small room with a mirror. "Feel free to leave in your costume, I can give you a bag for your other clothes." She stood there patiently.

"Uhm, thanks... Parian?"

"Yes?" Her innocent blink was palpable.

"May I have some privacy?"

"O-oh! Of course!" I tried not to notice her vague disappointment, but it was a losing battle. "I'll be just outside, then."

"And facing the other direction, and not peeking through the curtain?" I pointedly looked at the short, semi-transparent fabric.

"Yes, of course." Her disappointment was almost a physical force at this point. I had to wonder if she did this to all the pretty girls who came in here. I waited until she made good on her word and left the room before getting undressed, as quickly as I could.

Despite my caution, I had no warning before the curtain was once again pulled back in a rush. "_Oh-one-last-thing-I-forgot-to_... ah..." Parian went cross-eyed as she saw the spined tail poised directly in front of her face. Her eyes followed the bead of clear liquid that formed on one spine in particular as it built up and dripped on the floor. "...your receipt, miss," she said in a quiet voice. As soon as I'd taken the offered slip of paper, she scrambled out of the small room, tripping over the incline into a rack of coats. She scrambled off the floor and careened through the mess of coats as she made her escape.

* * *

Parian watched the taller girl with her head bowed, dressed in her new costume which covered her scarlet-red face, quickly walk out of the building and kept her hands bunched up in her lap. As soon as Vanguard had left the building, Parian dropped her head onto the desk with a cry. "_Stupid, stupid, stupid!" _She threw her hands atop her head to hide from the world. Nobody else was in the store to see the pathetic display, as she'd closed early. _I just _had _to perv out! I could've died! __Oh, but that thrill of danger... _Parian pondered her young maiden's heart, still beating quickly at the impromptu encounter. Her mind flashed back to the sight- _beautiful, pale skin, smooth as velvet; hips no mannequin could ever be built to imitate; the longest legs she'd ever seen, even if the feet were of questionable design; and then... that deadly limb, poised to penetrate her so _very _deeply, dumping its fatal load within her willing flesh-_ "What's wrong with meee!" Her cry went unanswered.

* * *

As I left the building, the cry of "_What's wrong with meee__!" _came out behind me. _That girl has issues._

I made my way through the sparsely populated section of the Boardwalks around the Dollhouse to the nearest bus stop, where I got some odd looks from people. An older woman with her daughter looked scared, like she wanted to be anywhere else but near me, while others looked excited to see a parahuman in costume right in front of them. I saw a few cellphones being taken out and pointed in my direction, and pretended not to notice. I'd probably be on PHO within the hour, and shipped with Mouse Protector within another hour if I knew the internet at all. A young boy hopped off his father's lap and tottered over to me, pulling on the hem of my skirt.

"Hi!" He chirped up at me, beaming in the guileless way only the very young can. "What's your super power? Can you fly? I wanna fly when I get super powers! Ooh, or, or shoot lightning!" A part of me hurt seeing him so happy over powers. _I was just like you, not long ago._ If only he knew what he'd have to go through to have his dreams come true. My gaze was drawn to the boy's dad. He was a tall, slender man with a balding head and a kind smile, and I imagined how his son would react to losing him. How he'd sit in silence, waiting for him to move again, for him to say "_Gotcha!", _to show it was all just a joke, it was all okay. He might sit there for hours.

"Hey, you okay? Are you sad 'cause you can't shoot lightning? I'm sorry!" He frowned up at me, big puppy eyes watering.

"Yeah, sorry, buddy. I just got so jealous!" I sniffed to myself, wondering when I'd started crying, and gave him my best smile. _It's not his fault he doesn't know._ "Wish I could shoot lightning. Or laser eyes!" He giggled along with me. "But I can't do that. I'm fast and strong, though!"

"Oh, you're a Brute! I wish they'd let Brutes play baseball. That would be _soooo_ cool! Like, like Assault could pitch and then Alexandria would be like _shwoooo! Home Run!_" The boy pantomimed a big swing, and swung so hard he spun himself off his feet. I shot a smile to his dad, who was still looking at his son like he was the most precious thing in the world, and I couldn't help but agree.

"Ooh, maybe Miss Militia could shoot the ball out of a cannon?" I joked. His eyes lit up in wonder at the image, and I felt my heart lighten, just a little bit.

He and I kept talking, with the boy's father laughing right along with us, up until the bus arrived. I felt vaguely disappointed that he never asked for my autograph. As we both got up to board, the father touched my shoulder.

"Thanks for talking to Tyler, miss," he said with a sad smile. "He really latched onto you like a barnacle, huh?" I chuckled along with him at the apt description. "You look a little like his mother, you know. Same nose, and tall like her." I wasn't sure how to respond to that. "I'm glad you took the time to entertain him. City needs more capes like you. Oh! Where are my manners? I'm Daniel. Daniel Hebert."


	7. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX: First Night Out

* * *

It wasn't quite noon yet when I got off the bus downtown. The city was in full swing here, with people crossing the streets without a care for the cars honking at them and the bright midday sun shining off tall glass buildings. I expected to be more of a spectacle, being a six-foot-plus girl in a bright and shiny new costume striding down the sidewalk, but people were just too _busy _to do more than spare a glance at me. Still, I curled my tail around my waist self-consciously. I supposed I looked normal enough with the new footwear; really, the only visibly inhuman thing about me was my eyes.

I almost felt like just another person going about my business, if it weren't for the wide space people left around me. I could hardly blame them for it, but it wasn't easy to ignore. Still, I kept moving along. I wanted to meet up with the self-defense instructor Amy had mentioned at least once before moving on to a cape instructor, and the big, modern steel building that housed the gym he worked out of was easy enough to find. I pushed open the door and was greeted by loud rock music and the smell of sweat. _Rock You Like A Hurricane_ blared over the sound system, while several dozen people were using treadmills, lifting weights or just hitting each other in sparring rings. A buff girl with a blue buzz cut at the counter called me over.

"Ooh, a cape at our gym? Y'know, you're the first one to come here in costume. At least, the first one to come in and not ask for protection money. You're not here to ask for money, are you?" She was all smiles, but I could tell she was at least a little nervous about that.

"Uh... no? I actually wanted to sign up." At this her smile turned genuine again.

"_Yes!" _she cheered. "What kinda stuff are you signing up for? Just using equipment? Looking for a personal trainer? That's what I do, by the way. You sign up with me, I'll make sure you make some _real _gains!" She made a show of flexing her biceps, and I had to bite my lip at the corded muscle on display. _I might actually sign up just to see more of that. Thank Scion for face-concealing masks._

"I might take you up on that later, but I'm looking for self-defense lessons right now. Y'know, instead of just hitting people really hard?" She laughed at that and nodded understandingly.

"Yeah, I shoulda guessed a cape would be here to learn how to hit people better. Mr. Laborne should be around here somewhere..." She stood up on her tip-toes and looked around before waving excitedly at somebody. I turned around to see who, and spotted a lean black man in his forties jogging over to us. "_Martin!" _She called out. I checked the guy out as he approached us. I was picturing some huge, musclebound Russian guy when I first imagined a self-defense instructor, but Mr. Laborne wasn't quite as tall as me, and looked more wiry than buff. He had a clean-shaven face and a bald head, and gave a polite smile as he shook my hand. "Martin, this is... actually, I never got her name, but she's looking for some lessons. Think you can handle her?"

"What, this pipsqueak?" He clearly had to look _up_ at me, but the teasing was evident. "Eh, I can take her. What's your name, kid?"

"It's Vanguard. I'm worried about hurting somebody too much, and thought it'd be a good idea to learn how _not _to do that." Mr. Laborne let out a short bark of laughter at that.

"Well, that's definitely a good start! Never had anybody ask me to teach 'em how to _not _hurt people. I wouldn't help you with that, anyways. Capes are a little _too _good at hurting people. Yeah, I think I can help you. Why don't we get you signed up?" With that, the blue-haired girl brought out some forms and a pen, and I set myself to filling out paperwork while answering some questions from Mr. Laborne.

* * *

"So why are you here in costume anyways, kid?" Martin asked. The first time I'd called him Mr. Laborne out loud, he'd said '_None of that. If you're gonna be punching me in the face, you can at least call me by my name.' _We were standing on one of the sparring rings doing warm-up stretches, with more than a few curious looks being shot our way.

"Well, uh... I'm sure you're gonna notice it soon enough, but my power gives me a hard time at keeping a private identity. I pretty much live as a parahuman. Now that I have a costume, I'm probably gonna wear it most places unless I just give up and go public." He looked curious, so to simplify things, I pulled my hood back a bit to show my eyes more clearly, and gave a little wag with my tail. His eyes widened momentarily, but he quickly schooled his features.

"Ah... Imagine that complicates things, huh? I'm pretty sure you aren't the only parahuman who comes here, but you _are _the only one who doesn't come as a civilian. I don't mind as long as you don't mind, though. Still, as long as we're doing this, I've got a few rules." I nodded understandingly while stretching out my legs, noticing for the first time just how easy it was for me to flex and stretch so far beyond what I thought I could. "Most obvious is, no powers if you can help it. No exploding my brain or shooting me with death rays, alright?" I chuckled at the obvious joke but nodded seriously.

"I won't do either of those, but I'm faster and stronger than normal. I can hold back, but part of why I'm here is to learn how far to hold back," I explained.

"That's just fine, kid, long as I go home with no broken bones. Second is, I'm gonna need you to take off the metal armor. You kick or hit with something solid like that, it's gonna hurt." I unstrapped the arm piece and set it down to the side, but when I took off my footwear, he _tsk_ed. "Don't think I can find any foot gear that'll fit you, sorry. We'll need to be extra careful with your kicks." I sighed but nodded understandingly. _Stupid bird feet._ "Should be fine, though. Anyways, let's get you started with the basics."

Over the next few minutes, he walked me through how to make a proper fist, proper stance, how to throw a kick without breaking a toe or gouging somebody, basic footwork, and a few blocks for punches and kicks. After he was satisfied that I wouldn't break a finger or trip over myself, he decided I was ready for a light sparring match. He tossed me a pair of gloves, and put on his own pair, along with some funny shoes for the tops of his feet. We touched gloves like I'd seen in the movies, and started.

Right away, he threw a jab, but I could tell how painfully slow he was making it for my benefit. I put up the block he'd shown me, and snapped out a kick to make some distance. "_Nice counter_!" he called. He side-stepped the kick and made a slightly faster right hook, which I tried to duck under but our relative height just made it hit my head. He _tsk_ed. "_Height isn't an advantage unless you use it!"_ A bit annoyed at the dumb mistake, I made a jab followed by a hook to feel him out. He easily blocked the jab and stepped around the hook. I made another obvious left hook, letting him step to my right before I stepped forward into a shoulder check, stooping low so it hit him in the center of his chest. He made an _oomph_ as it connected harder than I'd intended. Rather than saying anything, he shot two sharp jabs into my side to get me off him. I let them connect and soaked up the blows painlessly, pressing my advantage. He seemed surprised when I didn't back off, and he was _definitely_ surprised when I stepped into his footwork and pushed him further off balance, following up with an open shove to the chest which sent him off his feet. Landing hard on his back, he wheezed before laughing for a moment.

"Well, Round One goes to you, I guess! Your moves were sloppy but you've got a good mind for this. What was that, when you checked me? You didn't even flinch when I hit you!" I offered him a hand and he accepted, pulling himself up to his feet. I was half-blushing with pride, but knew he'd gone very, _very_ easy on me. Then again, I was going easy too.

"There's a layer of bone just under my skin. You'd need a hammer or something to crack it, I think," I explained.

"Well, that's gonna make this interesting. Normally, pain is my best teaching tool. You make a mistake, you get hurt from it, you learn not to do it again. I don't think I _can_ hurt you, knowing that. Not unless I did something stupid like go for the throat." He seemed to contemplate on ways to actually hurt me, which was fairly disturbing to watch. "Anyways," he shook himself out of it, "That just means you need to pay closer attention. I'll point out any mistakes you make, and you're gonna have to work harder to fix 'em." I nodded seriously. "Ready for another go? I won't hold back so much, knowing you can take it." He seemed more serious this time around. I nodded, and we touched gloves again.

Right away, I noticed he was putting in much more effort. His punches were coming faster and harder, and he gave me much less time to react. Still, I felt like he was just too _slow._ Every punch or kick he threw at me, I had plenty of time in my head to plan out the proper block, and I'd redirect or absorb the hit at the last moment. I couldn't fight back, though. If I tried to hit him, I'd have to move faster than him, and I wasn't sure if I could hit that fast without seriously hurting him. Instead, I concentrated on my defense, looking for an opening. Martin was too good for that, though, and took advantage of my hesitation to press his offense. Slowly, he picked up my tells, took note of how I never fell for his feints, how I just saw them coming every time. My reaction speed gave me the time to tell whether or not he committed to a hit before he made it, and he gave up the attempt at any complex subterfuge. Instead, he pressed the offensive, pushing me into a corner, and finally, when I overextended for a block, he seized my wrist and charged in for a shoulder check, throwing me over his back and onto the floor. Panting with the effort, he shook out his hands.

"Shit, kid, you're a tough cookie!" He offered me a hand up, and I took it and pulled myself up, still feeling pretty energetic. Martin looked out of breath, but like he could still go a few more rounds. "You weren't kidding when you said you were fast, huh?" He was keeping himself moving while he talked, stretching out his legs and bouncing from foot to foot, and I did the same even if I wasn't sure if it'd benefit me the same way. "You've got a good defense. If you'd tried to fight back, you'd probably have won. Why didn't you?"

"I was afraid of hurting you," I replied honestly. "I could react, but I wasn't sure if I could fight back without hitting too hard." He nodded understandingly before replying.

"Why don't we get you hitting the bags before you go hitting me, then? Get a feel for how hard you should be hitting. That'll wrap up the rest of today, and we can move on from there next time."

"Sounds good to me," I answered.

For the rest of the hour, he had me hitting punching bags. He showed me a few more complicated kicks, and had me keep a steady rhythm, always correcting my footwork and keeping a close eye on my stance. I felt satisfied when I left, happy with my progress.

* * *

Walking in to the Marche's loft, I saw the only other ones here were Alec and Rachel. The two of them pretty much lived here, really. I knew Rachel was otherwise homeless, but as far as I knew, Alec would just rather be here than elsewhere. He waved at me when I came in, but otherwise kept his attention on whatever game he was playing. Something with guns, I was sure. Rachel kept her attention on me, though, and I felt like now was a good time to get to know her better.

"Hey Rach-"

"Fuck off."

"Uh..." She scowled at me, but it didn't seem intense. Still, I felt like I needed to get on speaking terms with her. Knowing what little I did about her, the blunt approach felt like it would be best. "You don't like me. Why?"

"I dunno you," she replied. Still, it didn't feel very hostile, but she wasn't paying attention to me any more, just brushing her dog's fur. I think it was Brutus with her today. _Maybe it's best to take it slow._ I didn't have to be her best friend today, or ever, really. _I'll leave her be and try again later._ I left her to brush the stocky Rottweiler.

I'd known Rachel as an acquaintance for a month now, but I assumed she meant as part of the gang. And she was right. I hadn't fought with her yet, or really done anything for her; there was no reason for her to open up to me. I'd just have to let things happen as they would. It rankled at me, though; I wanted things to be happening _now._ I wanted to be stronger, to fight with Amy and the others, to _matter_, _now._ But if my power was dead set on teaching me a lesson, it was that things take time. I took a seat on an available couch and waited for the others to arrive.

Adam entered the room then, in typical grandiose fashion. "_Ladies!"_ he called out in that showman's voice, waggling his eyebrows at Rachel and I. "Did you miss me?" I fought the urge to vomit, especially when Alec pretended to swoon at the sight of him.

"Oh _yeah,_ baby, I couldn't stand another hour away from you!" Alec had adopted a ridiculous falsetto, and was batting his eyelashes with a hand to his heart. "_I wore that thong you like,"_ he stage-whispered. The sad bit was, he probably wasn't joking about wearing a thong. Whether or not Adam actually _liked _that... _Eurgh_.

Amy walked in behind Adam, with Lisa close behind. Both looked a bit green at what they'd just heard. "Alec," Amy growled, "If, for any reason, I _ever _have to see you in a thong, _I'm going to shrink your dick in half._" Alec actually looked frightened at that, and promptly shut up. I also noticed he pulled the waist of his jeans up a bit higher. My terrifying little sister saw I was already here, and was then all smiles. "Looking good in the new costume! I hope you had a productive day?" She gave me a big hug as she looked me over, before she and Lisa plopped down next to me, Adam across from us.

"Yeah," I answered, and it really was. "I think I learned a lot." Adam looked curious, while Alec and Rachel had both gone back to not caring. I assumed Lisa already knew most everything given her constant smirk, but decided to share at least for his benefit. "I headed to the gym, signed up to learn how to fight. The guy that teaches it does some kind of kick-boxing or MMA. Today was mostly the basics, but it went really well!"

"What, am I not good enough for you? You can train with me any time, y'know!" Adam looked a bit dejected at being passed over; I guess he really was eager to help me along.

"Oh believe me, I'd _love _to punch you," I teased. "I'm just not sure you could take it!"

He dramatically threw a hand over his heart. "Will my lady troubles never end!"

"Maybe when you stop being a filthy womanizer, and settle down with a nice girl instead of always chasing the hottest thing on two legs?" Banter with Adam was always easy, and it surprised me just how much it made me feel welcome.

"Hey now, I don't discriminate! I'd still go after a peg-legged lady. Pirates are _hot_!" I groaned, but really should have seen it coming.

"I'd take a peg leg over your chicken legs," Alec piped up. I scowled at him, still self-conscious over that particular change.

"You seem the type to enjoy... pegs," Lisa chimed in. Alec stuck his tongue out and I tried to pretend I hadn't heard that. Amy was apparently thinking the same thing.

"We have Nazis, Robo-Cop and his girl scouts, and a goddamn dragon to be worried about right now, Alec's sexual habits are the _least _of my concerns," she grumbled.

"So you're at least a _little _concerned?" Alec asked. In reply, she held her hands several inches apart while glaring at him, then brought her hands halfway together. He swallowed nervously. _I'm going to pretend my little sister doesn't know how 'big' Alec is. And then have a serious talk with her tonight._

"Children, children!" Lisa tittered. "I'm actually somewhat invested in not dying before the end of the week, so I for one would _love _to hear what our mafia lady has planned to avoid that!"

"_About that_," Amy growled, still staring down Alec before returning her attention to the rest of us, "I sent out a formal notice of our expansion to the other gangs. E88 and the ABB aren't happy about it, but they know you two," looking at Lisa and I, "are with us now. Faultline's crew doesn't care, and the PRT will find out on their own soon enough." The balance of power had always been delicate in Brockton Bay, much as one could be said to exist. Marquis had done much in his later years to establish a system of rules designed to protect civilians and businesses while keeping fights between villains from escalating out of hand. Nobody wanted the city in flames, or the Triumvirate swooping down to send everybody off to prison, after all. Public transportation was kept safe, the Boardwalk and all its businesses were left neutral, and gangs declared new capes to prevent accidentally declaring war by beating up some no-name independent who turned out to be the newest Empire member. That Panzer had attacked me the other day would have to slide, as I hadn't been declared yet.

"Kaiser will likely demand some assurances we won't be expanding our territory in exchange for 'the privilege of allowing us to gain new members'. I've been preparing us to undercut the Empire for some time though, so fuck that. Lung doesn't care how many 'weaklings' the Marche has, but once you start becoming more known, Taylor, he's going to make a big push to get us in a fight." I paled at that. Lung hadn't made a real appearance on the stage in almost a month now. The last time he had, it was a brief fight that ended with Amy pumping him full of hallucinogens and opiates until he passed out, and even that short encounter decimated the Dockside warehouse district. If he were smart, he'd try to get me on my own to avoid that happening again. Amy must've seen the look on my face.

"Don't worry too much about it, Tay. You're not ever going to have to fight alone," she said, with a soft, reassuring smile. She threw a protective arm around my waist and I took heart in her comfort. _She's right. I'm part of this now._

"Now, next point of business," she said seriously, sitting back up. _She's like a little evil businesswoman! So cute! _I internally squeed. "Before you two joined up," again looking at Lisa and I, "we were planning a hit on an Empire storehouse. It's set right on the edge of our territory, which makes me think Kaiser's planning on using it to expand. That, or it's bait, and he plans on letting us attack just to take some of us out. I'm prone to springing that trap anyways."

"Wait, what?" I couldn't help but ask. "It's a trap. Aren't we supposed to avoid it?" Lisa laughed at my question, and I scowled at her. "It's common sense! Traps are bad!"

"Oh, my sweet innocent sister!" Amy crooned. I whacked her shoulder for her teasing. "How much you have to learn of my evil mastermind ways. You see, Kaiser and I are playing a big game of chess. Except I'm winning, because I'm smarter than him. He thinks he's being clever by leaving an obvious target for me to hit, probably with little money or supplies and with two, maybe three capes to guard it. As long as it's there, he gets the benefit of whatever business he's running through it, and if we take it, he doesn't lose much of anything. If we _try_ to take it, he'll likely have backup nearby to come in at a moment's notice to kick our asses, maybe capture us and leave us at the Protectorate's doorstep as part of the Empire's 'civic duty'," she mocked.

"Except none of that is going to happen," she continued seriously. "_Instead..."_

* * *

It was just after sunset, and we were all scattered across the rooftops surrounding the two-story Empire storehouse. Three skinheads were patrolling by the entrance, and Mycroft informed us there were likely five more inside, along with two capes. She wasn't certain on exactly _who_, but given we knew their numbers and they didn't even know we were here, it was a clear advantage. Biohazard was sharing a roof with me, and she made the hand signal for _go ahead_.

Vector poked his head over his rooftop's edge, and a dim blue shimmer appeared on the ground beneath the guards. The three men were swept off their feet mid-step, and the _clack_ of their skulls on the pavement was just barely audible. One of them was still conscious, so I scooped my sister into a piggyback hold and hopped off the roof, landing right behind him. He started turning around, but Hazard's hand _boop_ed him on the nose, complete with sound effect, and he was out like a light. She hopped off my back and laid a hand on each of the other dazed gangsters, before motioning for the rest of us to join her.

The building was solid brick with no windows or sound escaping it, so none of us had any idea what to expect inside. As a precaution, Vector layered his paths around the entrance. Bitch led one of her massive dog-monsters further up the street, and the rest of us grouped up around the door.

With a running charge, the beast smashed down the flimsy metal door, dislodging bricks from the surrounding structure as well. "_OH YEAH!" _bellowed Regent from behind me. I fought the urge to facepalm at what I was sure was some stupid reference. A shout of alarm echoed from inside, and right away, the sound of gunfire filled the alleys. Fortunately, all the bullets either hit the armored dog or slowed to a crawl upon entering Vector's field before dropping harmlessly. Two more of Bitch's dogs followed into the building, forming a living shield for the rest of us to take cover behind.

"_MARCHE!" _came the shout from within as the three guards recovered from the initial chaos. Vector gestured wildly along the floor and walls, setting up a dozen or so small glowing patches before tossing a handful of pebbles into the air. Whenever one made contact with a patch, it shot forward into the guards, bringing out yelps of pain before they took cover around the corner of the short entrance hall. I somersaulted over Bitch's dogs, gathering a charge in my hands. Mycroft had warned me about accidentally stopping somebody's heart with an errant discharge, but that wasn't my intent anyways. When I turned the corner in pursuit, the skinheads were too busy watching my glowing hands to defend against a straight kick to the head. The first of the three was unconscious right away, and I dropped to the floor in a roll to avoid the answering gunfire from the other two, unhooking my magic stick from my belt in the same motion.

"_Extend!" _The pole shot out to full length in my hands, and I swept it out behind me, pulling both men off their feet. I rolled back up to a standing position, and saw Hazard strolling up behind the men. She bent over and touched each on the exposed skin of their necks, and the two dropped like a sack of racist potatoes. I took the moment to look over the room we found ourselves in. It was a wide open warehouse, with flickering lights, empty freestanding shelves and a concrete floor.

Mycroft's voice came in over the nifty little earpiece I'd been given. "_Two more guards upstairs, they're exiting by the roof to move the supplies. The capes are coming down to you."_ How she knew that, I wasn't sure, but I wasn't complaining if she was right. I could just make out the thud of boots racing around upstairs. I caught sight of a pair of red boots on the stairs before Regent flicked his hand out, and a man in a skintight red and black costume was sent crashing down the stairs onto the concrete floor.

"Help, I've fallen and I can't get up!" Regent called out in a thick German accent. _That _reference I did recognize, and the urge to facepalm was no less strong. My little sister would be giving him a lecture about being _respectable villains_ later tonight, I was sure. "Never would've thought you _ubermenschen_ would have a weakness as lame as stairs. Thought that was a Dalek thing. Then again, I _can _see a resemblance..." The cape, who I belatedly recognized as Victor, growled on the floor before standing back up. Behind him, his partner, Othala, marched down the stairs and laid her hand on his back. A dull grey shimmer extended across him, and he smirked.

"You idiots just won me fifty bucks from Hookwolf. Who thought you'd be _stupid _enough to actually attack us?" He sauntered forward, arms wide.

"I wouldn't be so confident, if I were you," my sister replied, arms crossed. "It's all of us and... two of you." She motioned at the five of us, along with Bitch's massive dogs circling behind us.

"You really think it's just us?" Victor asked, eyebrows raised above his mask. "The Empire is _more _than us! We have an _army _to call down on you, and they're already on the way!"

"Well, I hope they brought an ambulance," Hazard muttered, and nodded at me. I stepped forward, arms slack with a charge building up. Victor didn't even try to dodge, trusting in Othala's power, when I poked him in the chest. Immediately, he started seizing up, limbs spasming as he collapsed to the floor. Othala stood there in open-mouthed shock, looking back and forth between me and him.

"_How did-"_ she began. I wasn't going to share the answer with her, but Mycroft had somehow deduced that Othala didn't _really _make people invincible- she just made their skin impervious to blunt and piercing forces. While that was good enough to stop blades, bullets, and even a collapsing building, it didn't change the fact that the human body is an _excellent_ conductor, being mostly water. Instead, I smirked at her and waved bye, and joined the others in running out the way we came in, hopping on Bitch's dogs to make our getaway.

I could just barely hear the sound of engines on the very edge of my hearing as we left Empire territory.

* * *

"Did you see the look on her _face!" _Lisa crowed, slapping her knees. Regent joined in, imitating how Othala's jaw dropped open, complete with hands on his cheeks. We'd all cracked open some sodas and were sharing an extra-large pizza, with Bitch tossing the meatballs from her slice to her dogs.

"Thanks for the info, Lisa, I _really _wasn't looking forward to fighting an invincible Nazi ninja," I gushed. "How'd you find out anyways?" Her look turned smug, or at least more so than usual. I was beginning to equate her smugness with Bitch's scowl: constant.

"Well, it was actually really easy once I-" I tuned out for the rest. As helpful of an addition as Lisa was to the team, she _really_ liked to brag. "...her puppy in a Tesla coil." Wait, what? Now I wished I was paying attention. "Wished you paid attention _now_, huh?" She stuck her tongue out at me. "But yeah, I was surprised too! Always saw Nazis as cat people."

Adam turned to Amy and raised his hand. "So now what?" he asked, once he had her attention.

"Well, now we wait. The pheromones I left on those gangsters should attract every cat in a half-mile radius. So now we just have to follow the cats and we should find at least a few of their _real_ storehouses as the pheromones spread between other gangsters." She looked supremely smug with her plan, and I honestly couldn't blame her. Kaiser geared up for a fight, and we left him with unwilling moles in his organization, his capes humiliated, and probably the sniffles for any skinheads with allergies.

"I hear Taylor's good at that," Alec chimed. I looked at him in confusion. "Chasing pussy," he explained with a wink. I stammered, red in the face and looked to Amy for support, except she was laughing with everybody else. _Traitor! Laser eyes, where are you?!_

"_A-ny-ways,"_ Amy coughed for attention, "Kaiser's going to take this as a big slap in the face, which it pretty much _is._ But there's not much he can do about it, considering the whole thing was bait he intentionally left for us to attack. So expect a few more raids along our territory by unpowered gangsters, but his capes will likely stay out of it. They'll be taking us more seriously after this, though," she warned.

"That was always going to happen," Lisa replied through a mouthful of pizza. "You're not playing the same game as Marquis. He was territorial and defensive, and the first big move you make as head of the Marche is to go on the offensive. A month into your leadership, and you're expanding the roster and your territory. But we should still prepare for his reply," she said soberly. "He won't take this lying down forever. And the Protectorate won't like _any _of the gangs expanding once they catch wind. I have a few ideas I'd like to talk to you about later, though." Amy nodded in reply.

"Right now though," Adam piped up, "We just kicked Nazi ass, we have hot pizza, we run the damn finest gang in the city, and Alec and I are _surrounded _by babes!" Amy, Lisa and I all shot the serial heart-breaker a glare. He ignored us with ease and continued, "You know what that sounds like to me? _A good time._ Quit the pessimism and just _enjoy _the night, _please?_"

I had to admit, he had a point. Tonight was a victory, and I wanted to enjoy it. Logically, I knew tonight was a surprise for the Empire. They had no idea what my power set was, or how thorough Lisa's information was. But we'd taken Kaiser's capes totally unawares, and beat them like playground bullies. It felt _good._ I was already looking forward to the next time.


	8. Interlude: Victoria

Interlude 1: Victoria

***Trigger warning for: family abuse, emotional/physical neglect***

* * *

_Victoria Dallon_

She didn't remember much of that night, only that everybody had left and only her mother came back. But even she didn't ever _really _come back. Years later, she'd read an old news report on what exactly happened in what the media termed the "Para-Home Invasion." Her whole family had been branded extremist anti-parahuman criminals for breaking into the home of a known criminal, with no warrant or warning. The criminal in question was happily celebrating his youngest daughter's birthday when the door was knocked off its hinges, striking the girl in the forehead and knocking her unconscious. His response was instantaneous, merciless, and bloody. It left five dead, three orphaned and one psychologically broken, and was declared justified use of force given that the assailants were all lethally armed.

In a particularly cruel bit of irony, the resulting media circus brought about exactly what the Brockton Bay Brigade had advocated: independent hero teams were forced to be more accountable for their actions. Politicians had taken one look at the mess and decreed heroes couldn't be trusted unless the government could control them. The 'unwritten rules' practically became law overnight. Some villains became daring enough to forego masks entirely, believing the law prevented heroes from attacking them in their civilian identity, and the heroes were too nervous to prove otherwise. While masks remained part of cape culture, they were no longer an absolutely necessary precaution.

While all of that became part of Parahuman Studies classroom material, textbooks didn't mention anything about how Victoria's mother became a shell of a woman.

She looked over the body with a blank expression, noting the IV drip constantly feeding anti-psychotics, noting the dead gaze looking past an inactive television screen. "I'm going out," she said to the empty room.

"Okay, sweetie, be careful," it listlessly replied.

"I'll be patrolling Protectorate borders," she said to herself.

"Okay, sweetie, be careful," came the hollow echo.

"I'm alone," she admitted.

"Okay, sweetie, be careful," it answered without blinking.

She wouldn't cry. That would just throw her off balance for tonight.

* * *

Brigade wasn't Victoria. They had the same face, same body even, but they were different people. Victoria was empty, with nothing to hold on to. Brigade was full to bursting with spirit and determination. It was, after all, her power.

Flying was useful for patrolling, and she relied on it often, but it wasn't what made her an effective hero. Strength, speed and a nearly-perfect force-field made her popular as another Alexandria-package, but they weren't what really won her fights in the end.

Catching sight of a mugger from above, she dropped from the sky and landed silently behind him, her shield absorbing the force of the impact without so much as cracking the sidewalk. Still, the man noticed her somehow, and as he turned around to face her, his victim ran off. She'd have to make note to return the purse the woman had left behind in her hurry later. Meanwhile, she felt the mugger's supreme idiotic confidence brush against her mind, not knowing or uncaring who exactly he was facing.

Feeling a bit peckish, Brigade took a little nibble of that feeling, and noticed how the man's smirk faltered just a bit as her own became more intense. She could feel it now, the cracks in her facade shoring up. Soon it wouldn't be just acting on her part. She stepped forward, and the man stood his ground. _That won't do, _she thought. Taking a bigger bite of his will, she was pleased as he took a faltering step back. She stood taller, staring down at him. Surging forward with a hint of inhuman speed, she nabbed his collar and shoved him roughly against the alley wall.

"Do you _enjoy _it? Do you feel _strong_ when you scare weak little girls?" she hissed. The man was practically shivering in fear as she sipped away more and more at his spirit. "Because _I do._" She slugged him in the chest, hard enough to make him vomit but not enough for any permanent damage. He dropped limply into her grip after the single blow, making her scoff at how _weak_ the supposed predator was.

_Still,_ she shrugged, _it was a good first meal for the night._

* * *

"I'm _sick of this_!" She screamed into the face of her mother's corpse.

"Okay, sweetie, be-"

"_Shut UP!_ You do _nothing _but say that, over and over and _over _again, but what if I'm _not _careful? What would you do?! _Nothing!"_ She was past caring that the thing was incapable of replying. She needed and _deserved_ this. _But I'm a hero,_ a small, traitorous part of her mind complained. _I should at least do something to help._ Compromising with the weak, whiny voice in her head made her sick, especially after such a successful night, but she eventually relented. _If only to show respect to the dead,_ she admitted.

"Come on, I'm getting you out of this damn house," she grumbled. "You stink and haven't moved in days. _Get up!"_ The body didn't do anything of the sort, but Victoria wasn't one to give up. She hooked her arms under its own, and heaved upwards, not bothering to use her own power-assisted strength for the fragile and frail thing. She carted her load up to the shower, and scrubbed it until she couldn't smell days' worth of filth. Patting it off with a towel took but a few minutes, and then it was a moment's work to get it situated in a wheelchair, before exiting the house in questionable company.

* * *

She was sitting in the park, pretending to talk to it. She only ever got one reply in return, which made conversation difficult and drew odd looks from those nosy enough to listen in. Some, apparently, were more nosy than others.

"Daddy, look! Is that-" A precocious young boy with an unruly mop of curly brown hair exclaimed. He hadn't yet learned to ignore the downtrodden at his age.

"Hush, Tyler," his dad admonished. Still, even the dad didn't look away once he recognized who he was looking at. Instead, despite her glares, the unwanted man approached them with a look in his eyes Victoria couldn't place.

"Carol Dallon, I barely recognized you!" he began, as if it were listening. "Do you remember me?" His voice was soft as he continued, despite the lack of reply. "It's Danny. You looked over contracts with me for the Dockworkers," he pressed on. Surprisingly, after he laid a hand on its shoulder, he _did_ get a reply.

"...D...Danny...?" The voice was unsure of itself, as if having just woken up from a very long sleep, but it was unmistakably her mother. Victoria knew, _knew,_ that this Danny was a cape; he had to be, to cause this kind of reaction, but she couldn't bring herself to stop whatever this was. Not if he could do the impossible and give her a family again. "Oh... Danny, how could I forget?" Her mother's voice was more sure of itself now.

Danny beamed in relief. "I'd heard awful things about what happened to you, Carol. I was so worried!" As he continued speaking, her mother came more and more back to herself. She could see it in the light slowly returning to her eyes. "And _you,_ Victoria!" She felt warm as his attention fell on her, like she'd just been hugged by her favorite uncle. She couldn't help but straighten up a bit under his eyes. "The last time I saw you, you couldn't have been bigger than Tyler here!" It was a stupid, adult-y tease, but she couldn't keep the chuckle from rising up her throat. "Gosh, it's such a surprise seeing you two here! I just... I feel like there's so much _catching up_ to do!" Victoria felt pressed to agree. "Tell you two ladies what, why don't you join me for dinner at my place? I'll cook!"

"That sounds like a _wonderful_ idea," she found herself agreeing.

* * *

"Dad, we did it!" She was hollering in joy through the house. "He's dead!" Mom was beaming proudly behind her, hands clasped behind her back and looking like a puppy waiting for a pat on the head. Danny came out through his study, greeting the two at the door with a hug and kiss on the forehead.

"I'm so _proud _of you girls! I knew you could do it!" He was grinning ear to ear, and Victoria felt a swell of pride in her chest at doing a good job. "And the girls?"

"They're fine, just like you asked, sweetheart," her mom replied. "The older girl triggered, though..." At this, her brows drew together in concern. That hadn't been part of the plan.

"It's okay, sweetie," he said, and she felt her fears melting away. "We knew it was a possibility. But that just means one more strong girl for this big, happy family!"

Victoria couldn't help but look forward to officially meeting her soon-to-be sister. _Marquis stole Dad's first family,_ she thought sadly. _But we'll help him make a better one!_


	9. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN: An Important Talk

* * *

_Amelia Lavere_

I woke up to the _click-clack _of Taylor trying to walk quietly across the linoleum. A week ago, it would've been too quiet to hear, but, well... she'd put on weight. A _lot _of weight. "_Faaaat,"_ I murmured. Taylor's head whipped around like a lightning bolt, blue eyes glowing with fury.

_ "I AM NOT!"_ This. This was why we soundproofed the apartment. Because my big sister was part banshee. At least three quarters. I cringed deep into the soft embrace of my mattress to hide from the noise. "It's all muscle and bone and you _know _it!" Despite the pain in my ears, teasing her was always worth it.

"_Uh-huh," _was my sarcastic reply. She was right, of course; in fact, she had hardly any fat on her body at all. Which was all kinds of stupid unfair, but at least I didn't have to buy a whole new wardrobe every other week. "What're you doin', anyway?" I yawned and rubbed my eyes. Taylor had the 'magic stick' she got from Gizmo in hand and was headed to the back porch, dressed in a bathrobe and fuzzy green slippers. She'd cut holes out for her painted talons and I giggled quietly at the sight. Judging by the narrowing of her eyes and the scowl that followed, not quietly enough.

"Wanna find out what this does," she bluntly replied, wiggling the weapon around. "Gizmo said it had all sorts of tricks, but didn't bother explaining them to me." I'd never interacted with the Tinker myself, but heard about his quirkiness through the grape vine. From what I knew, that sounded entirely like him. "I wrote up a short list of commands to try. Can you think of anything to add?" She padded across the room to my bedside, and passed over a sheet of paper. I blinked out the sleepy blurriness of my eyes and gave it a once-over.

"Sharp, pointy, curved, vibrate, heat... Cupholder?" I raised an eyebrow at that item on the list. Taylor shrugged in reply.

"Dude puts cupholders on everything, apparently. He might be a cupholder Tinker, and everything else is an extra feature." She sounded fairly serious about that. Judging by the ridiculous variety of technology produced by the tiny Tinker, that might not have been so ridiculous a theory. I read on, noticing a few more weird tests she included just for the sake of thoroughness.

"Mmh... seems like you thought of everything. Lemme get some coffee and I might add something." I stretched off the mattress and plodded into the kitchen, while Taylor hummed in agreement and headed outside.

* * *

An hour and three cups of coffee later, and I joined my sister on the porch. "Any results?"

"It has a cupholder," she deadpanned. I raised my eyebrow while raising my latest cup of coffee to my lips. This, I needed proof of. She obliged when I gestured for her to go on. "_Cupholder,"_ she commanded the rod. Obligingly, the top unfurled like a blooming rose into... a perfectly normal looking cupholder.

"Wait, how is that any improvement over just holding it with your hand? You still have to hold the cupholder!" Taylor smirked at my confusion and shook her head.

"Oh no, Ames, _this _is a _Tinkertech _cupholder! No matter how I move it, the liquid inside stays perfectly still! _And_ it regulates the temperature!" Well, as long as she was happy with it. She demonstrated by snatching my cup out of my hands with her stupidly fast reflexes and I pouted over the lack of life-giving bean juice. Placing the mug into the cupholder, she then _tossed _the contraption into the air. My jaw fell open, ready to cry out over the loss of my favorite mug, but miraculously, the mug stayed perfectly upright without spilling a drop. _I want one._ _She's so right, that's fucking _amazing. My thoughts must have shown on my face, as Taylor smiled triumphantly and passed my cup back to me, letting me take another sip.

"_Anyways,_ I did find some more useful stuff. I can string together some commands to make different tools." She held the stick out a respectful distance from her, pointed away from me. "_Extend heated point!"_ The short rod shot out to a length about as tall as myself, and formed the tip of a spear glowing red-hot. "And I can save settings!" She pointed out a thin band of darker material near where her thumb rested, and flicked the tip of a finger across it. The spear rapidly shrunk down to a short baton, then to a longer single-edged blade with a blur along its edge, then back to its default marker-sized rod.

"So the vibrate and heat obviously worked... Any chance I could borrow that on a lonely night?" I winked, and Taylor gagged, looking aghast and highly protective of her new toy. At the same time, by her continued blush, I could tell she was at least a little bit curious to see if it could do some of the things I implied. "Kidding, kidding!" I waved her off. "I'm glad you like it, though. Worth every penny. But how are _you _doing?" Just from looks, I could tell she was a little more muscular, a hair taller, her tail a little longer. I just couldn't read her anatomy at all any more; it was like trying to read Arabic upside down through a microscope. I had to rely on her watch to keep up with the subtle things, and I still didn't trust that thing.

"_If I may," _the device pitched in, "_I have a detailed summary of Miss Taylor's current anatomy, as compared to your most recent inquiry. You've been given permission to receive any information not deemed top-secret, Miss Amelia." _At that, I had to raise an eyebrow. Taylor had classified some of her anatomy as 'top secret'? I looked to Taylor for permission, and she nodded at the watch. How it knew she'd done so, I wasn't certain.

"_Miss Taylor is currently 198 centimetres- that is, six and a half feet tall. Her weight has been expunged from all records."_ Taylor looked a little guilty that she'd done so, but I could get her being sensitive. Still, I had to wonder, judging by all the creaking furniture. Just in case, I'd have to invest in sturdier stuff. "_The subdermal bone structure has not spread any further. It has, however, seen a small increase in density." _The watch continued in its clinical tone, detailing small changes here and there. In short: nothing major. Small improvements measured in percentages across the board, while every day shifting just a little further from the girl I grew up alongside.

"Please keep me informed of any major changes, then," I finished. Sheila answered with an affirmative _Yes, Miss Amelia_, and I looked away from Taylor's watch back to her face. She looked... uncomfortable. "Everything okay?" She was shuffling from one foot to the other, not meeting my eyes.

"Oh! Uh... yeah," she replied lamely. I gave her a _look_. "Fine," she sighed, before taking my arm and leading me to sit together on a shaded bench against the brick wall. "No, it isn't. When are we gonna talk about it, Ames?" I looked at her unimpressed.

"You're gonna have to specify."

"Dad." Oh... oh. I felt my skin clam up.

"We're not talking about this." I made to stand up, only for her to take hold of my wrist.

"You can't keep running from this, Ames."

"T...Taylor, it's- I'm not..." I stammered.

"For over a month, I've been content to let you do this at your own speed, Ames. Just handling what was happening to me and you setting up shop with the Marche took our mind off things, but... we _need _to talk about this." She leveled me with an all-too-serious stare, completely killing any good mood built up over the morning.

"That's- not- _fair!" _I angrily responded, jumping to my feet and staring her down. Even so, I was barely over her head level. "_One month!_ You expect me to be ready to talk about _our dad's murder_ after just _one month?_ What the _fuck_, Taylor? Aren't you grieving?" Her face flashed through a range of emotions too fast for me to process them all, before settling on resignation, looking up at me.

"No, I'm not, Amy." I opened my mouth to say- _something - _to that goddamned stupid answer, but she kept talking. "I'm... already over it. No hormones anymore. My emotions are still _there, _but... They're quiet. I have the choice to ignore them now. They don't overwhelm me, not like they did. Maybe it's harsh to push you to talk about this now, but if I don't, you're just going to keep avoiding it. You know who killed him, don't you?" I paled, angry response swallowed quickly. Of course I knew who... did it. She did too. But she wanted me to say it, and that just made it... made_ everything_ wrong.

"_Brandish,"_ I spat out, sick at the taste of her name. "And what good does that do, huh? What good does knowing Dad was murdered by a broken old bitch with nothing left to live for do for _us?!_ She's _insane_ and has been for years! We can't go to the police. We're orphans, criminals, and she'd get off by insanity, while we get put into a broken system that will shuffle us from home to home, probably not even together! Is that what you want, Taylor?!" She looked sadly at me with those big, stupid spotlight eyes.

"No, of course not, Ames." I wanted to kick her for using that stupid nickname now of all times, but it wasn't worth the stubbed toe. "What I want is for us to stop avoiding it. _He's gone, _we're left, and for now, so is she." The way she said that... "No, I don't want revenge." Well, there went one good idea. "I want to talk to Brigade."

"Wait, _what?!"_ I shrieked. "You want to talk to that murderous psycho bitch's daughter?! How the _fuck _is that a good idea?"

"Because she's the only one with any contact with Brandish, and for all we know, her mom might just come back to finish the job with us," was Taylor's blunt reply. "Unless I never sleep again and stand watch on the rooftop 24/7, I can't keep that from happening. This is the only way I can think of to protect you. We can convince her to get her mom help, I'm sure of it. We don't need the rivalries of our parents to define and threaten us still." How could she say all of that so rationally? Yeah, the answer was apparently perfect self-control, which was bullshit, but still. Her stupid, logical self just sat there and explained all this to me, which made me feel like a child throwing a tantrum while she calmed me down.

"You want to _make nice?"_ I hissed. "Over my dead body."

"And what if that's how it ends, hmm? You'd leave me alone forever over revenge?" Stupid fucking reasonability. Taylor got to her feet and took my hands in hers.

"Why does it have to be one or the other! What will talking to her solve? For all we know, Brigade was a part of it! Nobody's seen either of them ever since then, so what if they made a run for it?" I tried to be like her and list my points calmly and carefully, but couldn't keep the shaky anger and hurt from my voice. _You think this can end with all of us being friends? _"I thought you were with me on this, Taylor." I pulled away from her again. _Why don't you care how I feel?_

"You're not seeing this rationally," she tried to continue in that infuriatingly calm tone.

"_No,_ I'm _not! _I'm seeing this like a _normal fucking person _would, when their family was _murdered!_" I cursed at the tears that rolled down my cheeks. "This isn't you, Tay." That seemed to reach through to her. She stepped back like I'd slapped her, and it hurt to see that pain in her eyes.

"What... do you mean?"

"Your fucking power." I couldn't keep the bitterness from my voice. "You used to _feel _and _care _so strongly. _I _held _you _while you cried. What is it doing to you?"

"You know I can't control that!" _Good. Get angry, just feel _something!

"Like I can _control_ how I feel about this fucked-up situation!" She grabbed my arm faster than I could pull away and looked me dead in the eyes.

"You think I _like_ this? I _enjoy_ having my body taken from me? You _cannot imagine_ what it's like to wake up and not recognize your own face in the mirror, and wonder if you'll even look _human_ tomorrow. We lost Dad that day, but I'm still losing myself _every day." _For a brief, unforgettable moment, I didn't recognize her, and I felt real fear. Her face was twisted in a furious snarl, eyes blindingly bright and leaving spots in my own. But it wasn't her I was afraid of. _When did I stop listening to you?_ An indescribable feeling of guilt consumed me. _When did I start ignoring your feelings?_ But I knew the answer: the same time I started running from my own.

"Oh, Taylor!" The world was hidden behind a blur as tears fell freely. "I'm so sorry. I'm _so sorry._ Why didn't you talk to me?" She wrapped her tail around her waist and hunched in on herself. Rather than making her seem smaller, the gesture made her into a monument of shame.

"...I didn't want to be a burden," she said at length. "You had enough shit on your plate."

"You're an idiot," I sniffled, a sad laugh bubbling out of my throat.

"Yeah," Taylor simply agreed. "That's what I have you for." She wrapped me in a hug, cradling my head to her chest, and this time I didn't pull away. We spent the rest of that morning with each other, talking like we used to before any of this happened. I felt like I'd won back a piece of my sister.


	10. Interlude: Protectorate

Interlude 2: Brockton Bay Protectorate

* * *

_Armsmaster_

Colin sat hunched over in his workshop, chin resting in hand as he pored over a collection of CCTV photographs. Each one showed the same scene at a slightly different angle: a tall feminine form in a hodgepodge costume with the villain Biohazard riding on her back, landing on a street over a fallen Empire member. A tail and taloned feet were barely visible. The pictures had been taken three nights ago, and he'd been hard at work identifying the woman since then. _Could be a case 53. Could be a Changer. No hard evidence in any one direction. _

"Any new information, Dragon?" His monitor flickered to life, and the face of a nondescript Canadian woman filled the screen. _Not her real face,_ he knew. He understood and sympathized with her crippling social anxiety, but after years of working together, he was contemplating whether or not it would be appropriate to ask to see the real her.

"As a matter of fact, I do. I've received permission from the city this morning to access records not already submitted to the PRT." _Three days for paperwork, _he thought. _Three days to decide to let us do our jobs._ Even after a decade of working within the system, the sheer _inefficiency_ of it all rankled him. "A local gymnasium has a new member, a cape, who self-identified as Vanguard. Several photographs were taken of her and posted on PHO, and match our description of her. Gym members report that she entered a light sparring match with a personal trainer, displaying heightened reflexes, strength and endurance, yet eventually lost to the trainer's superior skill." _Likely sandbagging as practice, inconclusive of her actual capabilities, _he reflected. "Furthermore, she's been photographed across the city, particularly in the Boardwalk, positively interacting with civilians. By all appearances, she's a model cape, both polite and non-destructive. Her first reported sighting was one week ago, outside of the Dollhouse."_ A new arrival to the city, or a fresh trigger? _He couldn't answer right away, but it was worth investigating.

"That's good information, but I still have questions." Dragon didn't reply immediately, letting him get his thoughts in order. _Little things like that, _he reflected, _she pays attention to my preferences_. An idle observation, but he appreciated it more than he could say. "She's only recently been seen with the Marche. Can we get her on board with the Protectorate? The Wards? She's seeking training, and is capable of holding back. She's been active for at least a week with no public outbursts or reports of violence," he mused out loud.

"A slight correction there, Colin," Dragon chimed in. He didn't mind an interruption if it served a purpose. "I got access to a video, prior to her first reported sighting. It slipped under our radar due to interference from Empire moles, apparently." The reality of the sieve-like security of the PRT never ceased to amaze him in the least pleasant fashion. A file flashed on his monitor and opened itself.

Dominating the screen was a hulking, squat vehicle, heavily armored in thick, black plating. _Material could be redistributed for 11% greater fuel efficiency without loss in coverage, _he mused. _Panzer's work._ He found the vehicle inferior to his own motorbike in every way but size and firepower, judging by the large, flattened barrel jutting out of it. _Laser emitters attached to the cycle's handlebars could be effective... and pretty cool,_ he silently admitted. Analyzing the tank's surroundings, it appeared to be in the vicinity of the alleys surrounding Lord's Market. And there, a child in the shadow of the goliath tank, was a white-haired woman, face poorly concealed behind a flapping scarf, dressed in sweats and sandals, on her rear in the middle of the street. _Vanguard updated her wardrobe, recently, _he observed. Suddenly, the vehicle opened fire, a bright red lance of energy explosively emitted from the top-mounted gun. With impressive, albeit panicked, reflexes, Vanguard leapt to her feet and dodged both the fire and the absurdly mobile tank. This continued for several moments, until suddenly, the woman dived _beneath _the tank. "She can't be..." _serious,_ is what Colin wanted to say, but his sheer disbelief at the idiocy displayed silenced him.

"Keep watching." Dragon was clearly amused at knowing the outcome. He did, and saw Vanguard emerge from beneath the tank, black tubing held in her- _Fangs_, he realized. _Clever girl._ The growing puddle of shimmering liquid beneath the tank belied her plan, as the cape leapt into the air, just as the now airborne cannon fired at the ground she'd vacated. The video ended on a blinding flash, clearly an explosion of some sort, before a piece of rubble came flying at the camera. "I'm deeply concerned that an explosion of that level went unreported, but there you have it. Vanguard was clearly uninjured judging by her continued public appearances, while Panzer has yet to be seen again. So, _some _violence. Against Nazi-produced vehicles, however, and with no known casualties beyond the pavement and an abandoned storefront." _So she shows planning, restraint, creativity, and bravery- or incredible recklessness._

"I want her in the Protectorate," Colin blurted out. "She'd be an excellent addition." Parahumans who displayed the desire _not _to blow up their immediate surroundings when they were fully capable of doing so were so rare, he might as well graft unicorn horns to them. Not to mention, the possibilities of her powers. _What could she be? A simple Brute, with altered biology? She's incredibly well-rounded- strength, speed, reflexes, endurance, all above human norms. There's no one evident weakness, and that's assuming she doesn't have any other tricks up her sleeve._

"While I agree that she would be, I don't believe it likely, given her association with the Marche. Still, I'll note your recommendation should your Director decide to recruit her. Unfortunately, we know too little about her to go after her. She's never been seen on patrol, and we have no way of contacting her beyond meeting with the Marche." Colin snorted to show his disdain for that idea. "There is... one more piece of information I found. I'm not sure what to make of it." He raised his eyebrow in curiosity as a pair of images popped up onto his screen. One showed Vanguard on the ground in front of Panzer's tank, the other pictured her perched over a fallen Empire gangster, Biohazard in the background. "If you look closely, there's a number of differences in her form that don't match our current theories on her minor Brute/Mover power." Several sections of Vanguard's body were highlighted, the most immediately obvious of which was the tail not seen in the first image. There was a slight increase in height, measured by comparison to her surroundings, and her frame had noticeably bulked out. "She grew," Dragon stated simply. "That much, in three days. That shouldn't be biologically possible at that rate without powered assistance."

"So our theory on her power is wrong," he stated. "I've never heard of a power as weak as a Brute/Mover 1. There_ has _to be more to her."

"That is one explanation," Dragon admitted. "But there's another, more likely one, as well. On January eleventh, Marquis disappeared from the Brockton Bay scene, coinciding with the murder of a local man. Watchdog confirms they're the same person. And the current leader of the Marche, Biohazard, has long been suspected of being Marquis' daughter."

"Dragon, if you're about to unmask two young parahumans to me, _don't_."

"I don't see how that's-"

"_I don't want to hear it," _he stated with finality. "Whatever it is you found out, we're not in the business of unmasking villains without very good cause."

"Alright, I'll withhold their identities," she agreed. "May I continue?" He nodded slowly.

"My theory is that Vanguard isn't a cape." Colin held back a snort of disbelief.

"I don't follow. She's _clearly _a cape."

"Not necessarily. Let's assume Biohazard and Vanguard are related, for a moment. Their father has just died, leaving them alone and scared, and one of them has the power to alter life as she pleases. In her shoes, with a powerless sister, what would you do?"

"...protect her, however I could."

"Exactly! So, what if Vanguard isn't a cape? What if Biohazard is altering her biology to _create_ an artificial parahuman?" A cold surge of fear wormed its way down Colin's back. "Vanguard just _doesn't fit _in our current model of parahuman powers. There's never been a cape on record with a primary rating as low as Brute/Mover 1. She's _barely _superhuman. As a product of another parahuman's power, it just makes more sense."

"If she _is_ a cape, though..." His mind raced through possibilities and explanations. "If this isn't a product of Biohazard's power, it could be the primary mechanism for her own power. Slowly altering her own biology. But that would mean..."

"It would mean she's an Infinite, and quite a powerful one, if this rate of growth continues. But let's not jump to conclusions," she hastily added. "There's only ever been two on record, and I still don't agree with Crawler's inclusion on that list. As far as we know, Dauntless is entirely unique in his potential."

"And we don't need another Dauntless. I'll inform Piggot of your theory."

* * *

_Vista_

"Any idea why we were called?" She asked Dennis, seated next to her in the K-Mart lit conference room.

"Yeah, Halbeard just wanted to tell us how much he _appreciates _us," he snarked. Vista glared at him, and he raised his open hands in defense. "Nah, no idea. I know as much as you do." Seated around them were Sophia and Carlos. While the general notice for a conference had gone out, Chariot, Kid Win and Gallant were all on patrol, while Armsmaster was the only fully-fledged Protectorate member on the base at the moment. Apparently, the meeting couldn't wait for everybody to arrive.

The door was slammed open, in an uncharacteristically energetic motion by Director Piggot who had entered the room, looking exceptionally out of breath and puffy-faced. "Shut up and I can _tell _you why you were called," she snapped. Raising her hand from her pocket, Piggot brandished a remote at the ceiling. With the click of a button, a projector smoothly slid from its compartment and flared to life, casting an image on the wall. In that image was a freakishly tall older girl in sweats and a scarf staring down a massive black tank that dwarfed even her. Vista looked closer, noticing the oddly jointed legs, the misshapen feet, and the odd white hair. "You're looking at the first image we obtained of the villain identified as Vanguard. She first appeared one week ago, and has since been in two separate fights with the Empire."

"What do we know about her?" Carlos questioned.

"Almost nothing," Piggot spat out. "She's a low-ranking Brute and Mover, but somehow managed to do _this._" A click of a button, and the picture on screen switched over to the tank in flames, overturned on its side with a giant hole ripped out of it. Sophia and Dennis let out a low, appreciative whistle. "What we do know is that she's associated with the Marche, and she attends a local gym in costume. What's more, we don't know exactly what her power is."

"You just said she's a Brute/Mover," Vista pointed out.

"If I said you were a Shaker, does that actually tell you _anything _about your power, miss Biron?" Piggot cast a scathing eye at her, and she shrunk down. "There are as many kinds of Brutes as there are Blasters and Strikers. Personal telekinesis, enhanced musculature, adaptive biology-" -she nodded at Carlos- "-each has its own implication on how to _deal _with that cape. Does she need leverage to enact force? Can she heal? _We don't know._ I need a working report on Vanguard as soon as possible. Gallant will be sent out with Miss Militia to make contact with her, and gather as much information as he can. Meanwhile, I want each of you to think of three plans of action against Vanguard and submit them to Armsmaster for evaluation. Dismissed." As Piggot left the room, Vista turned hurriedly to her fellow Wards.

"What do you think?"

"I think she's hot," Dennis blurted out. Vista instinctively warped space to slap the back of his head. "What? She is!"

"Chickenshit looks like her dad fucked a bird and then gave the kid too many 'roids." Sophia shrugged and leaned back. "Don't see why I should care about some weak newbie."

"I think," Carlos started, taking his time to organize his words, "that we need to know more. Something about this isn't right. The Director wouldn't call a strategy meeting for an unknown cape as weak as Vanguard seems without some reason to believe she's a threat."

"You think there's something more to her?" Vista looked back at the picture. "She... doesn't look totally human. And how did she take out a _tank _barehanded?"

"Maybe a Case 53, but why wouldn't Piggot mention that?" Carlos stroked his chin. "Guess we'll have to wait for Gallant's report."

* * *

_Alexandria_

"I just got off the phone with Dragon. We had a very _interesting _conversation about a new cape in Brockton Bay." Rebecca stormed into the brightly-lit white-tiled room. Sitting there was Fortuna, dressed impeccably in her pantsuit and fedora. And looking surprised, for once. "Either the strongest Infinite we've seen, or a local Biotinker has decided to change _her own sister_ into a parahuman."

"_What _new cape?" Fortuna queried, looking deeply concerned. "There hasn't been a single trigger in Brockton Bay for over three months._"_

"The information's accurate. Path a way to learn about the parahuman known as Vanguard."

"...I can't. There's nothing there. But... there's _nothing there. _The whole city." Alexandria went very pale. _Nothing_ threw Fortuna off, except Eidolon, Endbringers and Scion. Any addition to that horrifying list was the worst kind of news. "All Paths in Brockton Bay now end inconclusively. Becca, whatever is happening in that city, I can't influence it." For her to use that old college nickname...

"Can you Path around it?" She demanded. Fortuna _always _found a way.

"I- I can try," Fortuna replied, before entering quiet concentration. Almost immediately, her face crossed into a rictus of pain, hands shooting up to clutch at her head. "There's something there- something _big. _It's like- like staring into the sun!" A deep red line trickled out of the corner of her eye, capillaries bursting at whatever it was she saw. Her jaw was quaking, clenching her teeth.

"Stop- _stop!" _Rebecca demanded, shaking Fortuna's shoulders. In response, the seer fell out of her chair, now frothing at the mouth. _Shit, she's seizing! _Rebecca realized. "_DOCTOR MOTHER!" _she screamed into the halls. No answer was coming- Fortuna hadn't Pathed the Doctor's presence as required.


	11. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT: Housewarming

* * *

_ Miss Militia_

"You know what to expect?" She turned to the promising young man sharing the van with her, noting his helmet looked freshly polished. The bundle of energy on her hip, always peripherally connected to her subconscious, flickered from baton to stun-gun to mace can. All relatively non-threatening things, a reflection of her relaxed mood.

"Low-ranking Brute/Mover, positive disposition, do not provoke," Gallant rattled off. "Stand by and gather information while you interact."

"Loosen up a bit," Miss Militia advised, noting the tension in him even through his powered armor. She smiled at him, using her eyes more than her mouth. "Not every day you're sent to meet a _friendly _villain. Especially just to talk."

"...right." He took a few slow breaths, shaking out his hands. "Just can't help feeling there's something more to this." She sympathized, even agreed, especially with what Armsmaster had confided in her regarding Dragon's theory. "How do we know where to meet her, anyways?"

"She stops by a gym downtown almost every day, always the same time. The bus she rides there picks up near Lord's Market. If she isn't there, we try the next stop up on the route."

"A Brute/Mover rides a _bus _to a _gym. _Why does this sound like the setup to a bad joke?" Miss Militia held back a snort of laughter, and instead let out an airy chuckle.

"You'll have to tell me the punchline later. Almost there.

* * *

The hot midday sun beat down on the duo as they stepped out of the van into springtime Brockton Bay. _Armsmaster definitely put an air conditioning system in that suit,_ she idly noted, seeing as Gallant didn't react at all to the heat while she fanned her face beneath the flag bandana she wore. "Can you tell if she's nearby?" Miss Militia turned to the Ward, recalling his ability to see emotions both at a distance and through any obstacles.

"No, there's nothing I can see." He turned in a full circle, metallic steps echoing in the unusually quiet block. Not even one pedestrian in the area.

"Can I help you two?" Gallant and Miss Militia both nearly jumped out of their skin as there, silent as a panther, stood a giant woman, more than a foot above even Gallant's armored sillhouette. _Where did she come from?!_ Her weapon, hastily formed into a rifle, was quickly reverted to its previous knife shape. Miss Militia quickly schooled her features and calmed her heart as she got a better look at what was definitely their target. Hair like snow and eyes of lightning caught her attention first, set on a sharp, angular face concealed by a swath of black fabric pulled from her neck to the bridge of her nose. A loose, billowing hood was draped over her head, hair parted in long curtains through it. Her costume was composed of deep blues and charcoal grays, in a mix of armor and dress. A tail swished idly behind her, and four taloned toes tapped on the asphalt through metal footgear. _She looks more monster than human._

"Would you happen to be Vanguard?" _How many other giant, inhuman young women are waiting at bus stops in this city?_

"Would you happen to be Miss Militia and Gallant?" The young woman sounded bemused, if anything. _Odd. No fear, or hero worship. Nothing._ She was perfectly fine without the girl tripping over her feet in the presence of two heroes, but it was worth noting. Gallant stood stock-still by her side, and she mentally chuckled at the boy's inability to relax around girls.

"We would be, yes. Do you have a moment to talk?"

"Bus doesn't get here for another five minutes or so." Vanguard leaned against the brick wall adjacent to the bus stop's bench, and the two heroes stood off to her side, leaving her breathing room so as not to crowd her and scare her off.

"You're new to the cape scene," she started off. "About a week active, is that right?" Vanguard nodded slowly. "And yet you've already joined a villainous gang. Did you ever consider joining the Protectorate?" Gallant tugged at her sleeve, but she cast him a side-eye, communicating to back off. _Let me handle this, and pay attention._

"Nothing against the heroes, but it's not for me. I have my reasons for being with the Marche." _So she is with the Marche, and committed. _"Is this some kind of interrogation?" She shook her head, raising her hands placatingly.

"No, nothing of the sort! You've been noted as friendly in public, and I believed it worthwhile to show a Ward that not all villains are dangerous criminals." Vanguard narrowed her eyes dangerously. _She definitely doesn't buy it. _Those eyes bored down on her, the flowing white and blue irises insistent in their demand.

"...Alright." She swallowed a sigh of relief, grateful that the information regarding Vanguard's placidity was correct. "I'm with the Marche out of... personal obligation," she offered unprovoked. "The Protectorate can't meet those obligations." Miss Militia nodded understandingly.

"It isn't for everybody, but it's my hope that doesn't lead you to believe us enemies."

"I don't go out looking for fights," the girl replied.

"Then the tank that you destroyed...?" It was a delicate balance of maintaining a position of legal and moral authority and appearing friendly and accessible, but Miss Militia had decades of experience in that regard. Vanguard bowed her head, looking at her feet.

"Not...intentional. Self-defense, really. Just happened to be there."

"That was before you joined the Marche, yes? Not the first time an Independent was attacked on the streets, although your survival against a tank is surprising. With your power, I wouldn't expect you to win that fight." _Give me something to go on. Tell me about your power._

"I don't think I did win," she admitted after a moment of silence. "Almost died before my- the Marche saved me." _Almost let something slip. A possessive. Somebody saved her. A possessive of the savior. A relationship?_

"I saw that fight," the older hero replied. "You did very well for your first time."

"Didn't have a choice."_ No pride, no humility, just pragmatism._ Armsmaster would like the girl.

"You seem very... level-headed for your occupation," she tried. _If you can't get a reaction, stir the pot._ Gallant tugged again on her sleeve, and she brushed him off. "Most capes have some residual trauma from their trigger, especially villains." Vanguard tossed her head to the side, visibly tossing away the notion.

"I got over it. I won't let my worst day define me." The older woman's mind blanked. _Not possible_. _Every_ parahuman was defined by their trigger. That day lived on in them every moment they used their power. A Brute like Vanguard ought be reminded with every look in the mirror, or twitch of her tail, or step of her feet.

"Don't you... think back to it? Ever?" Her voice was faint, almost a whisper. _How inhuman do you have to be to _ignore_ trauma like that?_

"I still have nightmares. Visions, of when it happened. Giant things- whatever-" Her blood ran cold.

"Ex... excuse me? Can you repeat that?" Vanguard took on a more defensive posture, eyeing the hero warily.

"It's a fucking _trigger._ Every cape has one. You don't get to ask about it."

"I'm... I apologize, Vanguard. What you said is very unusual." The girl quirked her head in confusion, eyebrows drawn tightly together. Miss Militia took a deeper breath to calm herself. _Not now._ "Please forgive my outburst." Vanguard leaned forward, her size a silent threat to the hero, tail swishing dangerously behind her, dragging its sharpened tip against the brick.

"Miss Militia, we need to go. _Now._" Gallant grabbed her wrist, and pulled her away. She turned to him incredulously as she was moved by him, and the bus pulled up to the stop as she did so. "_She's not human," _he hissed. By the time she turned around to look at the girl again, she and the bus were gone.

"Gallant, what are you thinking!" She prepared a speech on the importance of respecting inhuman capes and the chain of command, but he cut his hand through the air before her mouth could open.

"_No _emotions. None at all. I can read capes made of metal, or hordes of mice; even sociopaths feel _something_. But she feels _nothing. _It was all an act to her. She _isn't human._" _What is she?_ She stared off in the distance, where the bus turned the corner out of sight.

* * *

_Taylor_

After returning home from the gym, I joined up with Amy and made our way to the lair. _So adorable that she calls it a lair! _I thought, pulling my cute little villainess of a sister to my side. I could tell she was pouting under her mask, but enjoyed the affection too much to pull away. Entering the warehouse, I noticed everybody else was already here... along with a massive truckload of brand-new furniture. "Wh-huh?" I blubbered. Amy turned her head up at me, presumably smiling with the impression that she knew something I didn't. She took off her mask, showing that yes, she was absolutely beaming.

"_Welcome ho-ome~!" _Lisa sang, holding a... _i__s that a black forest cake?_

"Gimme!" I demanded, and snatched it from her. Amy gave me a pointed _look,_ and I reluctantly took out and shifted my multi-weapon into a knife and cut the cake in half, handing her a slice. _Thank you, cupholder-Tinker._ "What's going on here?"

"Well, after giving it some thought," Amy started, "I figured home was getting a bit cramped, and with you going out as a public cape it was only a matter of time until you were forced out, so... we're living here now!" _WHAT._

"You're... moving too?"

"Well, yeah! Like you could live a week without me."

"Wait, but that means..." I dreaded finishing that sentence.

"_We're roomies!" _Alec finished for me, throwing an arm around my waist, as high as he could reach.

"_House. Mates._" I sternly corrected, shoving him off me. "I am _not_ sleeping in the same room as you." I took a moment to reflect on the new situation, bringing to mind the most important questions. "Do I get my own room?"

"If you want," Amy answered, although I picked up the hope in her voice. We'd always shared a room... she just couldn't sleep without me there.

"Mmh... I'd be more comfortable sharing with you," I answered. She gave me a megawatt smile in reply, and I gave her my best one back.

"You look scary when you smile," Rachel commented, and I immediately closed my mouth. "Too many teeth..." I ran my tongue over my teeth and confirmed that yes, there were more teeth there than I'd had previously. _When did that happen?!_

"Every woman's smile is beautiful!" Adam declared. I rolled my eyes and strapped in for another proclamation of how _every woman is a treasure._ Deciding to cut him off early, I turned towards him and stretched my lips as wide open as I could, baring my teeth in a face-splitting grin. He blanched and stammered. "Ex-except maybe... _that one..." _he whispered.

"Sheesh, got it. No toothy smiles from me," I promised. "Nothing but haters here." Adam let out a sigh of relief. _Was it really that bad...? _I'd have to check a mirror later. "Anyways, let's get this furniture set up!" For years, Dad had a policy of living plainly in a civilian home. No indication that we were absurdly wealthy, as it was a dead giveaway of a not-so-legal income. If we were living here... Well, Amy would finally have her chance to make some really cool plants to decorate the place with, and I could finally get a real mattress that didn't feel like rocks.

* * *

Being the Brute of the group, and not wanting Rachel's dogs to get hair on _everything_, I was stuck moving most of the furniture. Alec already had his room, which was thankfully far enough away from ours that the smell wasn't overwhelming, and Rachel mostly slept on the couch, claiming she couldn't sleep on a normal bed. I found that a bit sad, but she was pretty resistant to change. I was grateful that Amy had refrained from making everything pink, and had instead chosen mostly neutral tones, and she'd really sprung for sturdy, high-quality stuff, too. "Did you have all this stuff just set aside?" I wondered.

"Yeah, figured this would eventually happen once we knew what your power did. I've had this stuff for a month now." Looking over the expansive room, almost as big as our entire apartment, I admired the two queen-sized beds, one with a much thicker frame, pushed next to each other, the wall-mounted television, the plush carpet... everything just looked so _nice._

"I could really get used to this," I said, remembering to smile without showing teeth.

"Good! Unless you grow to the size of Behemoth, we'll be staying here for a while." I did wonder just how much I could grow. Hopefully, at some point my power would decide, 'hey, that's probably good enough,' and start growing in other ways. I was already pushing 6'8", after all.

"I'd be happy at Narwhal-size, I suppose," I answered. "Don't think they make clothes any bigger than that, and I'm not ready to be a nudist." There was a knock on our door just then, and Lisa popped her head in.

"Planning on going naked? Maybe save it for later, 'cause Lung's outside."

"Wait, _WHAT?!"_ Amy and I shrieked together.

"Yup. Housewarming gift, he said. Brought a La-Z-Boy."

"Oh, _fuck me," _I swore.


	12. Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE: Here Be Dragons

* * *

Lung, the Dragon of Kyushu, one of the few parahumans to ever go toe-to-toe with an _Endbringer_, _alone,_ was outside my new home. Alec was who-knows-where, Rachel was out on a walk, and Adam was likely chasing skirts. So it was Amy, Lisa and I against one of the most powerful capes in the country.

"Relax, it's just a courtesy visit. If he wanted to kill you, he'd have called ahead. Besides, he brought a _chair!_ You think _Lung_ needs a _chair _to kill you?" Lisa seemed entirely too relaxed for the situation. _Doesn't she realize what we're up against?_

"Lung doesn't _do_ courtesy!" I hissed.

"Let me put it this way," Amy interrupted. "Either we go out there and meet him, or he burns down the warehouse with us inside. I've taken him before, you don't have to worry." Was she trying to soothe me or terrify me? Either way, she was right: we had no choice. I leashed my fear and brought it to heel, slowing my breathing.

"...okay. Let's do this, then."

* * *

Seeing Lung in person was... _odd._ A month ago, I'd have been insensate with terror at the sight of the musclebound giant of a man, but the coldness with which I'd clamped down my fear let me see the man behind the legend- a mid-30's Japanese guy, covered in gaudy dragon tattoos, wearing a metal dragon mask and loose pants, leaning back in the chair he'd supposedly brought for us. _He's probably shorter than me now,_ I found myself realizing. Not that that would matter once he became a mile-tall living volcano. But that was just it- without getting warmed up first, Lung was a mid-tier brute with regeneration and limited flame generation. Granted, he could still probably kick my ass six ways to Sunday, but he wasn't the walking cataclysm that he'd become in an extended fight. In another month or two, I could probably take him if I were smart about it.

"Biohazard," he dipped his head to my sister. He was practically surrounded, the five of us standing in a loose semicircle in front of our warehouse, but I couldn't shake the feeling that _we_ were the guests here.

"Lung." She didn't bother with any polite gestures, just crossed her arms and tapped her foot. "Came to say hi?"

"A housewarming, isn't it?"

"And just how do you know about the living conditions of the Marche?"

"He owns the furniture company... and the driver was yours as well, wasn't he?" Lisa had a knowing smirk on her face- though, at this point, I was of the opinion it was tattooed there. Didn't her lips ever get tired? Lung ponderously rose from his chair and kicked it behind him, hands in his pockets.

"I will have to kill him for being so easily discovered." Lisa paled and nervously gulped, dropping the smirk. Now towering over most of us, Lung sauntered closer to Amy, and I stepped forward protectively. He snorted at what he must have seen as a futile effort, before looking at me more closely. "You are one of the new parahumans, then? You don't look like a detective... Vanguard, then. You dress in frills and baubles, the mark of inexperience. You are not worth killing yet." With that said, he casually disregarded me. Was I supposed to be relieved or insulted?

"I did not come here to speak to your new lapdogs, however," he continued in an airy tone. "I come to demand answers from a girl playing in her father's suit. _Why_ are you here?" The confusion on Amy's face was palpable.

"I... to lead the Marche?" Her hands were clenching and unclenching, the way they always did when she had a problem she didn't quite understand yet.

"Yet you sound so unsure. And to what end? You are not a leader for power's sake; you have no great plans for this city. You have no _drive_. You lead because it is_ expected_ of you, and that makes you _weak!_ _YOU DO NOT DESERVE HIS THRONE!"_ He bellowed at her, smoke billowing out of the dragon's maw he wore, flame flickering along his bare skin. Amy physically shrunk back, taking a step in retreat.

"He... Marquis _trusted _me to do this. He left the Marche to _me._" Amy... she'd said the same thing when she took leadership. And yet, I couldn't recall a single time Dad had ever asked us to take his place. He often spoke of working _with_ us, but never once did he tell us that the Marche was meant to be a family business. After he passed, nobody else wanted the role, and Amy took it.

"The Marquis, your father... How _disappointed_ his spirit must be in you," he spat. Amy recoiled as if physically struck. "No father leaves work half-finished for a child to complete! The Marquis had more pride than that! You are a _girl_, playing _pretend_ in his shoes!" Were it not for me standing between the two of them, Lung would be jabbing his accusing finger in Amy's face. I was beginning to think I was _not _in the best position, here. _Why isn't she saying anything? _"You cling to leadership as a raft. Beneath you, the Marche is drowning."

"Your welcome is wearing thin, Lung," I grit out. He laughed in my face.

"I am welcome because I demand it, because _I am Lung!"_

"_Leave,"_ I hissed. Smart? Not likely, but he'd managed to piss me off on a level deeper than emotional. _You will not speak to her that way._ He looked up at me, a gesture he clearly wasn't familiar with from the crick in his neck, and another puff of smoke washed over me.

"Make me." Well, with a straight line like that, how could I say no?

With cold anger, I slugged him in the stomach as hard as I could. I felt bone crack, and followed up with a kick to his chest, lifting him off his feet. He flew back, sprawling across the street. For a moment, he lay there wheezing, clutching his likely broken ribs. I grabbed Amy's hand to lead her away, Lisa looking on in shock, before realizing the wheezing behind me had turned into a gurgling chuckle.

Turning around, I saw Lung staggering to his feet, deep, bone-wrenching _cracks_ echoing from his body as his bones shifted. In those few moments, he'd nearly reached my own height, and his skin shimmered with some metallic surface just below the skin. A dull heat shimmer surrounded his form, before igniting in a low _whumph._ Swaying back and forth, he came fully to his feet, dropping his hands to form lazy fists. "Weak..." He took slow, heavy steps forward, cracking his neck. "Is this all the Marche has to offer?" Flames encircled his arms, peeling off his shoulders in great, billowing waves. He dug one foot into the asphalt before pushing off, explosively charging at me.

With a resounding crash, his first punch crashed into my arms raised quickly in defense. My guard held, and I swung back, claws catching the skin of his face and pouring blood into his left eye. With his reduced vision, I jabbed my tail forwards and scraped along his exposed side, leaving an ugly but shallow gash. I felt something hard scrape against the spines of my tail. _Armor, below his skin. Scales?_ The blood was quickly evaporating from his skin amidst his flames, and he swung a wild haymaker at my head. I ducked under it, but wasn't prepared for the rush of fire that followed. My eyes reflexively shut to protect themselves from the sudden heat, and I felt an impact in my stomach steal my breath away. I pulled my weapon off a belt loop, and quickly extended it to its spear form. I stabbed at his face, and when he raised his hands in a guard, I instead pulled back and stabbed at his foot. The sharpened tip easily speared through the leather of his boots and into the unprotected flesh within, and Lung howled in pain. As he reared back, I dropped the spear and built up a charge of electricity in my open hand, slamming it into his chest. Lung spasmed, throat tight in a rictus of pain, and I followed up with an elbow to his throat. He toppled over, coughing, but I noticed something: _he's not bleeding any more__. _He was healing too quickly for me to damage. Every second this went on, he'd get harder and harder to injure, as well. _I can't beat him alone. Where's Amy?!_ I scanned my surroundings within the small opening I'd gained, and spotted her looking shell-shocked within the warehouse's entrance, being shepherded inside by Lisa. The Thinker threw a remorseful look back at me, mouthing words I couldn't make out. An apology, or explanation?

Lung stood back up, hand clutched around his throat and an ugly Lichtenberg figure patterned his chest. He stared hatefully at me, and an explosion at his feet rocked the earth as he launched himself forward in a wide tackle. He was aimed at my midsection, and I twisted my body to the right just enough that he would sail past. Instead of allowing him to crash into the ground, I seized the back of his skull and forcefully rose my knee into his stomach, changing his angle of descent to face-first. In the slow-motion that my mind processed rapid events in, I dropped my considerable weight to one knee, slamming Lung into the asphalt. My mind flashed back to Martin's lessons.

_You're not learning how to fight just us normals, kid. Eventually you're gonna fight somebody bigger and badder than you. Always a bigger fish, y'know?_

He bounced off the pavement, nose crunching hideously and spurting blood, but a wall of fire prevented me from following up. Getting his feet back under himself, Lung hauled himself upright, tossing a fireball through the air. I easily tracked its arc, preparing to dodge around it- I may have been fire resistant, but my costume certainly wasn't- as I stepped around the lazily tossed projectile, a fist came rushing at me through the barrier of flames, hitting me squarely in the face. My nose was crushed to the side, snapping with a hollow sound that echoed through my skull. Another wave of heat washed over my face in the wake of his punch, and my eyes itched at the sudden dryness. I seized his wrist as it continued past and pulled him into an arm-bar, pulling back with all the force I could muster. A sudden release of tension and resounding crack hidden beneath his howl, and Lung's arm dangled limply by his side. As he clutched the dislocated limb to his side, he visibly shot up several inches, matching and surpassing my size. With an almost intimately soft ringing sound, like a finger along a glass of wine, scales slid from his skin, parting his flesh like water before overlapping themselves across his body.

_When that happens, you hit first, and you hit _hard._ 'Cause when they hit back, that could be it._

When his next punch came, it was released like a cannonshot. Again, I raised my arms in defense, but pain shot up my shaking arms as the bone plating and metal armor alike were dented. I was pushed back, and he seized my hair flapping in the wind with a single massive hand, yanking me back towards him. As I tumbled forwards, he stepped forward with a powerful kick to the stomach, and I went flying backwards, landing on the stairs leading up to the warehouse. My head lolled back, and I saw Amy standing there, looking horrified. _Do something, _I wanted to say, but all that came out was a pained croak.

Lung walked unhurriedly forward, bent down and gripped me by the front of my costume, effortlessly hauling me off my feet. "_Teach- res- pec," _he hissed out, his voice inhuman and slithering. A cold knot of fear worked its way up my spine, unable to be squashed down. _I can't beat him._ And he knew it, too. He seized the back of my head, yanking down my hood to expose my swollen eye and broken nose. The straps of his own mask had stretched to the point of breaking with his own growth, and an alien, reptilian visage met my own. His four jaws unfurled, and a torrent of fire consumed my whole body. Behind me, I could hear a scream of anguish. _Amy._ A dull series of thumps indicated she was hitting somebody... Lisa?

At first, the heat was barely tolerable, like sticking my hand in an oven that hadn't cooled off yet. But every second that went by made it harder and harder to withstand the never-ending torrent of flames bathing me. I couldn't breathe through the constant blast. My arm lit up in searing pain as the metal armor glowed red-hot, warping and melting onto my skin. The fabric of my costume was blackening and flaking away, revealing rapidly-blistering skin. My face was totally exposed, the mask having gone to ash. The flame consumed my vision, turning everything into deep purple sun-spots before darkening entirely. After what felt like hours, I felt like I was entombed in the core of the sun. The agony was too great, and my mind slipped into blissful, cooling darkness.


	13. Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN: Where Do We Go From Here?

* * *

_It hurts._ A simple, two-word phrase that did so little to sum up the sensations I awoke into. In reality, I couldn't feel much of _anything_. There was a tightness to my skin, like it was stretched too thin, and beneath that, my whole body felt like charred wood. The pain was a message on repeat sent from my brain, as it kept looking for functioning nerves and not finding any. Imagining what my body looked like after being roasted alive wasn't helping any, at all. _My face is gone, my eyes are burnt out,_ my traitorous brain told me.

Slowly, my other senses returned to me. The smell of antiseptic, the steady _beep-beep-beep_ of machinery... the tightness of some material around my wrists and face. _I'm restrained._ I pulled hard against my bonds, to no result. If I wasn't dead yet, that must be intentional on the part of my captors, and I was all for any plan that didn't result in my death. Still, my eyes were covered, and I couldn't move.

I _felt, _somehow, as a figure in the room turned about, facing me. _How do I know that?_ "Doctor Meyer, she's awake!" A young, feminine voice called out. A rustle of fabric and that same _sense _told me she rushed out of the room. I concentrated on that sensation, tried to reach _outwards _with a limb I wasn't sure I had. In my head, a fuzzy outline of my surroundings slowly took form. I could feel everything in the room, knew exactly how big it and every object within was, as though I could reach out and run a finger along it. _But how?_

That same sensation alerted me to a silent door sweeping open, and a light breeze followed a new figure into the room. Stooped, thin and slow, the person plodded along the floor to my bedside and peered down at me. _They're weak. If they have a key, I can free myself. _Without further consideration, I jabbed my tail upwards, angling for the figure's shoulder, only for it to be caught on another set of restraints. The figure jumped backwards, and I heard a dry, nervous swallow. "So, ah, so she is," a masculine voice this time. "Miss Vanguard, please calm down. You're _safe."_ _I don't care if I'm safe._ _Amy. Where is she?!_ I thrashed against my restraints, flexing my tail and pulling against the bed frame. "S-_stop_! You're _safe_! You're safe!" The man shouted needlessly. _She isn't safe. _

"Marianne, sedate her!" The older man was cowering in the corner as he shouted to his... nurse? The younger woman grabbed a tube... a syringe, off a counter and rushed towards me. In a flash of instinct, I built a charge and cast it _out_ along the same limb as my new sense. My image of the room was cast into chaos for a moment, and yelps of pain and resounding crashes filled my ears. A moment later, and the image was restored, now with both figures lying on the floor, surrounded by toppled carts. Finally, my tail slipped free of its restraints, and I cut away at the thinner material connecting my restraints to the bed frame with the bony spurs. I tore away the blindfold over my eyes, and was overcome with dizziness as two senses gave me identical input: sight and this new, mysterious sense overlapped and I struggled to make sense of both together. _I don't have time for this. _I slipped the blindfold back on, seeing as I didn't know how to stop feeling my surroundings, and tumbled out of the bed. As I did, I felt various tubes inserted in my arms as they were torn out, before dashing out of the room.

As soon as I exited into the hallway beyond, I crashed into a wall. _What the hell?_ The sense from before was totally gone. _No, wait_. It was building back up again, but... slowly. _Very _slowly. _Fuck this nonsense._ I tore the blindfold off once again, dashing off into the now clear hallway. My stride felt funny, too heavy, but I couldn't spare the time to find out why at the moment. _Amy._ Dimly, I caught a trace of something familiar: her scent. I'd never tell her that I could _smell_ her from a mile away, because that was just embarrassing, but I'd use what I could get. _But why is she here?_ I was in a hospital, that much was clear. Was she injured as well?

I careened around the corner, and came across people- doctors, nurses, random civilians- wandering through the corridor. Catching sight of me, probably looking like a crazed monster crashing through the building, most threw themselves out of the way. Those that didn't, I pushed and shoved my way past, following that scent growing ever stronger. As I dashed past people, most gave shouts of surprise or pain. A few whipped out their cellphones to snap pictures of the crazy cape.

Outside a closed door, the scent was its strongest yet. I twisted the handle and shouldered the door open. "_Amy!" _I cast my head around in a panic, looking for- _there._ She was seated next to the bedside of a patient, with just a black domino mask as a disguise, and across from her was... "Armsmaster." I bared my many teeth and growled at him, bright eyes narrowed dangerously as I pulled myself up to full height, staring down at him. Behind me, several guards rushed in, brandishing tasers at me.

"Stand down," the large man in blue powered armor rumbled. He rose to his considerable height, dwarfing the guards if not myself. "_All _of you." He nodded to the guards, and each left the room without a further word. "Vanguard, your sister is safe. _Ask _her." He nodded to Amy, who was looking back and forth between me and the floor.

"Amy? What... what's going on? What _happened?"_

"You mean just now, when you assaulted the hospital staff and threatened the leader of the Protectorate, or before, when you provoked _Lung_ and got burned alive?" She sounded so _bitter._ It hurt to listen to her like that. Amy pivoted and got out of her seat, stomping towards me. "You big _idiot!_" She thumped me in the chest, and the noise sounded oddly dulled. "Why can't you think things through?" Another punch. "I.. I _told _you this was dangerous, that people like him could _hurt _you, and the _first thing you do_ is almost get yourself killed! Just-" _thump "_fucking-" _thump _"_think!"_ She headbutted me in the chest, and was wracked by sobs. I cradled her against me, running my hands through her hair, like Dad used to when he didn't have the words.

"I'm alive, Amy. I'm alive, and so are you, and everybody's okay. We can come back from this, just like always."

"No, we _can't!" _She squeezed hard around my waist, burying her face deeper into my chest. I could barely make out her words through the tears and my own padding. "I had to surrender. I _had _to, to get _you _help! I can't... I can't be with the Marche any more." Wait... _what?_

"Explain. _Slowly._" She swallowed another heaving sob. I wished Armsmaster would get a clue and let us have our moment, but he was just staring at me from the corner.

"When it happened, Mycroft held me back. Said Lung wouldn't kill you, but he _would _kill me if I interfered. And I- I couldn't _do anything!_ After what he said, I just fell apart. I couldn't think, couldn't put together anything to fight him. I saw you... burning, and I did _nothing._ When he finally stopped, you were skinless. I tried to... to fix you, but you're too different. I don't know what goes where, can't make any sense of it." Scion, she sounded so _guilty._ _This is my fault._

"I panicked," she continued. "Called the PRT for help. Said if they could save you, I would do _anything._ They asked for my surrender, and I gave it to them." Her head was hanging in shame. "It's been two weeks now. You've been kept under while you healed. They've been monitoring you, keeping you on tubes while your body stabilized. I'm... with the Wards now. Or will be, soon." While I tried to wrap my mind around that, Armsmaster spoke up.

"At the moment, she's learning under the hospital staff to heal. The Director felt that would be the best use of her power. I'll ensure she has combat training, but as a former villain, Amy will be held to higher scrutiny for any violence she causes. Her name and costume will have to change, as well." She wouldn't be Biohazard any more? It wasn't a heroic name, but it was _hers._ She was so fiercely proud of it when she came up with it. Dad had teased her for being 'edgy', especially with the funeral dress/plague doctor getup, but she'd come up with it on her own. Who would she be now?

"And... what happens to me?"

"You're invited to join the Wards alongside her, of course. Given your circumstances, as a comparatively recent trigger with no criminal record, you would be a full member rather than under probation as Amy is." _So this is what the Protectorate is. They want to leash me, and will use Amy to do it._

"I'll need to think about it," I answered after a moment of silence. "Talk to Amy about it. Talk to... the others." What happened to the rest of the Marche? I doubt they stuck around after the PRT was called. Would they see this as a betrayal? Armsmaster nodded, as though he'd expected that answer.

"You're not under the same pressure as Amy is. Despite the appeal of your power, the Director has no real legal hold on you. While there are avenues she could take to secure you, such as involving child protective services," my hands curled at the thought, "doing so would only alienate you and turn you against us. We _don't want _to be your enemy." _No, you don't. _I let my stare carry that message. _If you ever try to use her against me..._

"It's okay if you don't," Amy blurted out. Armsmaster frowned at her, but she continued. "Don't give up the Marche. I'll be okay, here." She smiled up at me through teary eyes. I'd never tell a soul how hopeful her snotty, blotchy face looked at that moment. _It's just for me._ She hugged me awkwardly around my hips before patting me twice and turning around. "I have to go, now. Uh, training. I'll... see you later," she finished lamely. I saw her shoulders shake as she walked quickly out of the room. _You don't have to be strong for me,_ I tried to say.

It was just me and Armsmaster now. "Can I go, or...?"

"You're free to leave at any time, but I have some things to discuss with you." The patient in the room who'd gone totally ignored groaned in pain. "In private. Would you like to get dressed first?" _Wait. Am I naked?!_

I quickly glanced down and confirmed that I was, _technically_, naked. What Armsmaster _didn't _say was _why._ My entire body below the neck was clad in white bone plating, contoured around each muscle group and with each plate layered over another. From feet ending in talons, up along bestial backwards-jointed legs, across my now adequately curvy hips, outlining a toned midriff, hugging my womanly chest, and extending down my arms to end in wickedly sharp nails and long, slender fingers, thick armor protected every inch of me. _I look like Dad, _I realized with some pride. With a thought, I clenched a fist and built up a charge of electricity in it. Sparks of energy arced from knuckle to knuckle, dancing across the back of my palm. _So it's conductive,_ I thought with glee. Armsmaster looked on in wonder, various lights flickering across his visor.

My attention snapped to a tickling sensation cascading down my back. _Is that..?_ Waving my tail through the cloud that tickled the back of my mind, I confirmed my suspicions. The motion of my tail was clearly picked up by a _second_ sense, every twitch of the muscles catalogued in my mind. That other sense, that one I had no name for, was coming from my back. _But why?_ With flexibility I had barely explored, I twisted and arched my neck and spine to look at my own back. Armsmaster looked mildly green in my periphery from the unnatural display, but I had my answer: there, along my spine, were a series of hair-thin cracks in the bone plating. From them poured a wispy fog, through which I noticed a barely-there electric current. As the fog grew, my sensation through it grew sharper.

Armsmaster cleared his throat, waking me from my self-assessment. "Your anatomy is highly resistant to any kind of analysis, due to its complexity. Anybody short of a Biotinker gets a headache just looking at a biopsy. Over the past two weeks, we've gotten very limited results. Your _assistant, _however, has proven very helpful." He handed me a watch, its face curiously devoid of hands.

"_Good afternoon, mum. I've identified an excess amount of sleep in your routine, at 330 hours over the past two weeks. May I suggest light stretches and a cup of tea?"_ _Oh, Sheila. _I could cry at how reassuring that voice was. I slipped the watch around my wrist once more and felt a weight lift off my shoulders.

"Thank you, Sheila, but I'm okay." Armsmaster mouthed _Sheila?_ to himself, but otherwise made no comment.

"Ah... _Sheila, _has helped build an understanding of the changes caused by your powers recently. Most notably, the suit of bone and electrolocation. We're still not sure where you're getting the energy and mass needed to use your abilities, but with time..." He continued in a gush of technobabble. I was more interested in that word he'd used: _electrolocation. _I recalled a brief lesson in biology, years ago, about sharks that mentioned that word. _I'll have to read about how it works._

"_Sir Armsmaster has been an excellent research partner as well," _Sheila commented. "_While he was quite abrasive regarding my 'barely adequate' construction, he was _so _offended by my design that he transferred my data to a new platform of his own design. I now boast high-speed internet connections and crystal-clear audio!" _Her voice beamed with its synthetic pride. "_Also, I can do _this!" From the blank watch face came a ten-inch tall hologram of... Armsmaster, pole-dancing on his own halberd. _Well then._

What was visible of Armsmaster's face turned interesting shades of red. "I warned that device if it misused the expanded hologram projector I'd be forced to remove it, but..." A blue light lit up the corner of his visor.

"_But I insisted it stay," _a clear, feminine voice with a faint Canadian accent answered in a bemused tone.

"D-_Dragon?!"_ What the hell was the _world's greatest Tinker_ doing listening in on my medical exam? Wait, why was I even _getting _a medical exam?!

"_It's nice to finally talk to you, sleeping beauty. Usually that's done _before_ playing doctor." _I blushed deeply. "_I have to thank you, though." _Dragon, thanking _me?_ "_The things we've learned from you have advanced our understanding of the effects of powers on a human body by leaps and miles. We could write _hundreds _of articles about you!"_

"Please don't," I moaned. "My secret identity is holier than the Pope already." Dragon's light laughter echoed out of Armsmaster's helmet.

"_Not much we can do about that, I'm afraid. But I'll hold back on making every detail of your body known to the world of science." _She sounded vaguely disappointed. Wait, _every _detail? Just what were Armsmaster and Dragon doing to me while I was out?

"Thank...you?"

Another loud groan of pain interrupted us, and our attention was once again drawn to the apparently dying man, who was possibly a Stranger as he was so easily ignored, we shared a room with. "Kidney stone," Armsmaster succinctly answered. "Right. In private. Follow me, please." Without a second look back, he strode from the room. _Guess I follow._

* * *

I found myself back in the private room I'd woken up in, Doctor Meyer and his nurse nowhere to be seen, and the room put back in order. Before this went any further, I needed some answers.

"Why did I wake up restrained if I'm free to go?"

"To protect the hospital staff and yourself," Armsmaster replied. "Parahumans who gain additional senses through their powers often have difficulty at first using those senses along with the standard human ones, so you were blindfolded to keep you from getting overwhelmed. You were lashing out in your sleep, so the doctors were forced to restrain you just to get the tubes in. No harm was intended, and you would have been released as soon as Doctor Meyer could confirm you were fully awake." Well, now I felt like a bitch for hurting the old man.

"So just to be clear... I _am _free to go now?"

"Yes. As I said though, I have some things to discuss with you." I sat down on the edge of the hospital bed, and Armsmaster merely leaned against the counter. _In one-ton powered armor, I suppose most chairs don't cut it, _I reflected. The creaking of the hospital bed reminded me that I was approaching that point... just how big _was _I now? I cast a glare at Sheila before she could blurt out the answer to the unspoken question. The blank screen blinked blue quickly at me. _Did she just wink..?_

"Firstly," Armsmaster woke me from my reverie, "I owe you an apology." I raised my brow in confusion. "When your existence first came to light, we... misunderstood your situation. It's part of why we pressed for your sister's surrender. I was under the mistaken impression that you weren't a parahuman. That Biohazard _made _you. That assumption dramatically raised her threat assessment, and the Director refused to bargain for your life without your sister as the wager, thinking she was capable of such things." He bowed stiffly to me, looking deeply unaccustomed to the gesture. I stared him down.

"You... _assumed_... I wasn't a parahuman. Your _assumption_ robbed me of my _family._ I don't think an apology's gonna cut it," I ground out. My claws dug in and out of holes in the mattress.

"The papers are already signed, and your sister is a wanted criminal. Even without that assumption in play, she is now in our legally binding custody." His tone was completely devoid of sympathy. Just matter-of-fact.

"Then I hope you understand when I say I _will_ get her back."

After a moment's consideration, he answered me. "I do understand. But things aren't that simple. If you want to protect your sister, you need to know that _right now, _this is the safest possible place for her."

"And why is that?"

Rather than answer me, he pulled out a set of photographs from a pouch on his hip. "I have some questions for you." I stared at him until he continued. "Do you know who killed Marquis?" _Like you don't know,_ was the first, bitter reply on my lips. I forced myself to swallow that down. _He's asking for a reason. And that reason might help Amy._

"A hard-light javelin struck him through the head and disappeared. He was killed by a cape, and the only cape I'm aware of with a power set capable of that who has sufficient motive is Brandish." He nodded, not surprised. _So he knew. Why did he ask, then?_

"Have you seen Brandish, or any of her family, in costume or as civilians in the past two months?"

"I've never seen Brandish in person. Even on that day, I only saw the javelin. I haven't seen her daughter, Brigade, since I quit school." His mouth thinned at the mention of my _incredibly illegal, dangerously criminal_ truancy, but otherwise made no comment on it. "Why?"

"One last question," he continued. He held up a picture of a tall, balding man standing in a park, holding a little boy's hand. In front of the man was Brandish, as Carol Dallon, and her daughter, seated on a bench. "Have you ever seen this man before?"

"That's..." I narrowed my eyes in confusion. _Had I?_ "Yes," I realized. "Yeah, I have. I saw him at a bus stop by the Boardwalk, when I first got my costume." My heart broke a little bit at the reminder of the loss of that amazing dress. Armsmaster tensed, barely noticeably, as he leaned forward.

"Did he say anything to you? Touch you? How did you feel around him?" _He's serious about this,_ I realized.

"I spoke to his son," I began. "We were joking around, about... baseball, and capes, I think. The boy's name was... Tyler, and the dad is Daniel. Daniel Hebert. He thanked me for playing with his son, said the city needed more capes like me. He might have touched me on the shoulder or shaken my hand, I don't remember. I didn't feel unusual at all around either of them. He seemed like a nice, normal guy. Very... dad-like, I guess. What's this about?"

"A week before your father's murder, this picture was captured on CCTV. Carol Dallon was, by all reports, totally unresponsive to all outside stimuli, practically a vegetable. Thirty seconds after encountering Daniel Hebert, she's seen talking, and walking away with him, Victoria Dallon following. Either he's a miracle worker, or a parahuman. Moreover, we found this." He set another picture down before me. It was a photocopy of two pages of Brockton Bay University's yearbook, class of 1991. Three pictures were circles in red highlighter: A tall, reedy young man with a receding chin. _Daniel Hebert._ An intimately familiar man with a charming half-smile and tousled dark brown curls. _Jean-Luc Lavere. _A woman with hair so like mine used to be, and Amy's tired but playful brown eyes. _Annette Lavere._

"What... What is this?" I'd never known my mother. Dad refused to speak of her. There were no pictures, no memories, _nothing _of the woman who helped create Amy and me. And the PRT found her by accident while investigating a dangerous parahuman. _It's insulting._

"_This_ is why we believe your father died." He died over... _her?_

"How is Mr. Hebert involved in this? How is _she _involved in this? Dad died because Brandish was crazy!"

"You know that's not true," he steadily replied. "Brandish was insensate, incapable of _using a bathroom_ on her own. How could she have killed him alone?" I had no answer for him, and glared impotently.

"Digging through old newspaper clippings gave an incomplete picture, so the local branch of Watchdog pored through as much information as they could find." They had _Watchdog _look at this? The mysterious group of government-funded Thinkers were the ultimate investigators. If there was a secret, they could find it. The coldest trail could be picked up overnight. Thing was, Thinkers weren't always _reliable._ Their powers often worked in short, limited bursts and couldn't be used in-depth again for some time. Thinker headaches, they called it. Because of that limitation, Watchdog was only ever used to crack open _big _cases. Why this case?

"Annette married Jean-Luc in their senior year at BBU, and the two quietly divorced in 1995, shortly after the birth of their second daughter, Amelia. That much is public record. What _isn't _public record, what Watchdog concluded, is that Annette was in a long, dedicated relationship with Daniel prior to Jean-Luc. At a young age, he got her pregnant. While Watchdog couldn't say _why, _that pregnancy... didn't end well. Within the year, she'd left him, and taken up with Jean-Luc. Another year, and they're married. Four years and two children later, Annette abruptly ends her happy family life with no warning. _Two months _later, this picture is taken." He laid yet another picture before me: Annette staring lovingly up at Daniel, who looked back at the camera with a smile. Her stomach was softly rounded, the barest hint of a pregnancy.

"That... that _can't _be right. Mr. Hebert's son couldn't have been older than ten, this is six years too early." Was this some bizarre scheme to get me to join the Wards?

"I know. The truth is somewhat worse than that." He laid down another picture, and another, and another: each taken one year apart, each showing the same soft swell in her belly. Each picture showed a collapsing woman: her hair was messier, growing bags in her eyes, the admiration in her eyes turned to obsession. All the while, Daniel's gaze remained fixed on the camera, that smile growing more and more fake. "Seven miscarriages. They never stopped trying. And when Tyler Hebert was born... Annette died. Watchdog thinks it drove him off the deep end."

"They think... he triggered?" I had to swallow my revulsion.

"No, they think the trigger was your birth. Jean-Luc succeeded where he failed, with the woman he loved. He'd convinced himself _she _was at fault, something was wrong with her. When forced to accept that it was him... well, he _couldn't_."

Triggers were messy, no exceptions. When somebody with the potential to be a parahuman faced the worst day of their life, neck-deep in trauma with no way out... something happened. Whether it was the touch of God or the stars aligning just right, that person came out as something other than human, capable of doing things no human could: a parahuman. Correlations had been drawn, showing that the trauma inflicted had some relationship with the power gained. In some way, shape or form, the power was a solution in the worst way to the problem. In my case, I didn't hate myself enough to dig through half-healed wounds in a desperate attempt to give meaning to something best left alone. Amy had it comparatively easy, as a second-generation parahuman: seeing me injured and desperate to help, miles away from assistance, she'd gained the ability to alter life itself. More than just heal me, she'd become a golden goose for half the world to obtain. Without Dad's protection, under which she'd grown capable of defending herself, she'd have been kidnapped by the Yang Ban or CUI and forced to heal their soldiers. Hell, it might have happened to her anyways, right here in Brockton Bay. As for Mr. Hebert...

"What...what kind of power would that give somebody?" _What am I up against?_

"What Daniel Hebert wants, more than anything, is a family. Watchdog has delivered two possibilities. He may be a powerful Stranger similar to Nice Guy, able to convince anybody he's a close, loved relative, or he may be an equally powerful Master, capable of doing the opposite: brainwashing his victims into behaving as his surrogate family. Either way, he's been given the designation Sulcifer."

"And he isn't done yet, is he?" A sinking feeling filled my heart.

"No, he isn't. We believe he had your father killed so that he could get what he really wants: control over you and Amy." _I'm going to kill him._

"You can't attack him, not head on. That's just giving him what he wants. We don't know how his power works. It could be eye contact, or the sound of his voice, or a radius around him, _anything._ You attack him, he _owns _you, and he'll use you to get Amy. _Leave this to us," _he pleaded.

"You know I can't do that." I stood up, making for the door. Armsmaster stood before me blocking my way. "I'm free to go, aren't I?"

"You're making a mistake. You _can't _fight him. We tried this with Heartbreaker, and _failed_."

"Anybody who gets between me and protecting my sister is making the kind of mistake you don't come back from." I shoved him out of the way, leaving scratches in the paint of his chest plate, and stormed off. _I'm going to get you back, Amy. I'm going to get it all back. The Marche, and you, and revenge for Dad._


	14. Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN: The Girls Are Back In Town

* * *

Amy had sacrificed her freedom to the Protectorate for me. There was a baby-crazy lunatic after my family. Lung had burned me alive, and probably wanted to kill me some day. The Marche had splintered in the wake of Lung's actions. What happened to the quiet mornings with Amy and I bickering over coffee? There was an awkward air while we adjusted to the changes in our lives, both the death of our father and my own personal alterations. But that was better than the silence I'd find without her there.

As far as the law was concerned, I was a homeless truant. Amy was now both a Ward of the Protectorate and a ward of the state. She'd probably live on the Rig unless some family tried to adopt her. Could they do that? Could they ship my sister off to live with some strangers? She was only fifteen, and had likely given up many of her rights in surrendering. I had to protect her, get her back somehow.

I thought back to what she'd last said to me. _Don't give up on the Marche._ She'd hugged me goodbye and... patted my stomach, really awkwardly. _Could she have...?_ I felt around the area she'd touched, and nestled between two armored plates, something caught against my palm. _Amy, you clever girl. _And right under Armsmaster's nose! It was a piece of notebook paper, torn out and folded up. Opening it revealed a short note: 221 B Hastings Street, with the letter 'L' written below. _L for... Lisa? _I couldn't think of any alternative. Amy had told me not to give up on the Marche, and Lisa was the best starting point for rebuilding it. I'd need her help in planning my next move, after all.

Hastings Street was... what, two miles northeast? Amy and I had checked it out when looking for apartments, but it wasn't in a safe part of town. It was one of many suburbs in the city run by small-time mundane gangs. I could try my luck with waiting for a bus at this time of night and have my every movement advertised on the internet to get there, or... I looked up. There was something I'd _always _wanted to try.

* * *

_Let's see... five more blocks that way will bring me to Hastings street. 221 B would be... that building, there_.Talons scrabbling on the loose gravel covering the rooftop, I launched myself over the edge, moonlight at my back. I caught myself in a roll, tail swishing for balance, and sprinted forwards. _Rooftop running is the absolute best._ Once more I catapulted over the lip of the building, pirouetting in midair, landing on all fours on the adjacent roof. I had to suppress a whoop of laughter as I leapt forwards, mist streaming behind me, from building to building. When I had a moment, I'd have to work on getting that mist under control. It was too obvious a trail.

Arriving at the rooftop just above my destination, I flipped off the edge and landed in a three-point landing. _It's tradition, after all._ And there, before me, was 221 B Hastings street. I raised a hand to knock on the door, when instead it swung open on its own, revealing Lisa in plainclothes with two giant suitcases, a pair of sunglasses, and her back pack.

She stood there, staring open-mouthed at me. "_Taylor?_ What-"

"I need your help. Like, _really _badly."

"This... isn't a booty call, right?" She smirked weakly.

"No, it's not. Amy's out of the game, and I need to get her back. I'm bringing the gang back together, and we're going big-time. I'm... not smart enough to do it alone."

"Why can't anybody ever want me for my boobs? It's always, 'you have such a big brain!'" She crossed her arms and wrinkled her nose in mock disdain. I felt my spirits lifting.

"Maybe if you _had _boobs." It was impossible not to play around with her. Was she doing this on purpose? Making light of the situation to cheer me up? With a power like hers, it was difficult not to second-guess everything she did.

"Hey, _my _boobs are all natural! _Yours _are a side effect from turning into a creepy bony monster!" I'd barely known Lisa for a week, but being around her was just so... _easy._ Being there, talking to her... my troubles felt lighter, just for a moment. She looked up at me with those clever green eyes, and they widened for a moment. "Hold me," she demanded, and pressed herself tightly against me.

"O-okay?" I stooped and wrapped my arms tightly around her, enjoying the warmth of this surprise hug, and- "_Ow!" _A stinging pain lanced across my back. Again and again, like a half-dozen rocks fired out of a slingshot. I tried to turn around, but Lisa insistently held me there.

"You idiot, don't move! You're my shield!"

"Are we being _shot at?!" _I twisted my head around, looking for our attacker, and- _there. _An alleyway half a block down the street, three men had guns pointing towards us and were walking in our direction, still firing. "What the fuck!"

"Local gang-bangers, looking to force a cape into their gang. Too stupid to know better. Panicked when you showed up," she fired off an explanation in staccato. "_Move!"_

"Hold still or move; one or the other!"

"_Fucking move!" _she shrieked, bullets leaving cracks and pock-marks in my armor. _Just how tough is this stuff?_ I scooped Lisa up in a princess carry and leapt backwards, launching us from one end of the street to the rooftop I'd previously occupied. She screamed as we flew through the air, and I dumped her back onto her own feet before leaping back down. "What are you doing!"

"Getting practice!" I called back. These idiots were perfect for me: either dumb or brave enough to attack a cape and not run away when that cape was apparently bullet-proof. After waking up in the hospital, I had a lot of kinks to work out in my new body. I let the mist pool at my feet, tail flickering threateningly as the men dropped their now-emptied guns and withdrew knives and clubs.

"Boss, I don't think-" one of them started.

"You're damn right you don't! Three of us, one of her. Gut the bitch!" _Must be the leader._ I singled him out as he charged forward, club raised high. The world slowed to a crawl as he swung at my head, and I felt as though I had all the time in the world to react. In a single blink, I whacked him in the hand with my tail, careful to keep the barbs retracted. I felt the dull crack of bone reverberate through the limb as his weapon flew upwards out of his now open, disfigured hand. Transitioning the momentum into a spin, I lifted one leg and pirouetted, extending to kick him in the head, delicate compared to how much force I knew I _could _use. My shin made contact with his temple and kept going full circle, toppling him.

The second man was right behind his leader, and had barely started to react as the limp body of the first hit the ground. To my eyes, his knife arced a slow, lazy trail through the air. I chopped down on his wrist, wincing at the sound of another snap of bone. _Hopefully this won't become a habit._ The knife fell from his grip, blade glittering in the moonlight as it tumbled. I caught sight of my own reflection, eyes narrowed in focus and blazing like twin stars. Were they brighter than normal? _Later, _I promised myself. I'd have time to experiment and play with myself later. _Even in my thoughts, that came out wrong._

My opponent let out a bark of pain, hand curling inwards to his chest. I built up a minor charge in my hand and clapped him on the chest, the arc of electricity causing his muscles to violently contract as he threw himself backwards, his head clacking on the asphalt.

The last man gulped and looked nervously between me and the two unconscious men, before demonstrating impressive athletic ability as he sprinted away, tossing away his own knife. However, he hadn't made it half a block before the club of the first man came tumbling out of the sky, hitting him squarely in the back of the head. He tumbled to the ground, and didn't get back up.

From above, the sound of clapping rang out. Lisa beamed down at me. "There's no way you did that on purpose!"

"Maybe, maybe not," I called back. "They can't say I didn't." I stepped over the leader's unconscious body as I walked back to Lisa's door, picking up her bags before leaping up to the roof with Lisa. I set them down and sat on the floor, and she sat on top of one across from me.

"Thanks for the help. I was planning on skipping town tonight, before I got recruited by some villain." She patted the suitcases and back pack. "Didn't know if you were coming back. I figured you were more likely to join the Wards with your sister."

"She... wanted me to do this, I think. To rebuild the Marche. Just what happened after Lung attacked?" I'd seen on the streets ABB and E88 graffiti thrown up in old Marche territory, and knew they'd made a hard push after Amy 'retired' from leadership. But as for the capes of the Marche, I had no idea where they'd all gone.

"Bitch is pissed off and thinks Amy betrayed her, and blames you for causing it. Regent's doing the same as me, about to skip town now that his protection's gone. I've got a good idea what he's running from, and don't blame him one bit. Vector's still clinging on, making small strikes against any gangs trying to take Marche territory, but there's only so much he can do alone. Last I heard, he was humiliated and beaten by Krieg. He's resting up at the old base, I think." Oh, Adam. He'd believed in Amy more than anybody, maybe even me. He acted like a pervy uncle, but he'd always be the last one to give up on any of us.

"Bitch and Regent... You think they're lost causes?"

"Maybe Bitch. I think you might get Regent back without too much fuss. I know he wants protection from somebody, but other than that, what drives him is a mystery even to me. But aren't you forgetting something?" She primly arched an eyebrow, gesturing pointedly at herself.

"Y...you? Aren't you rejoining?"

"Mmh... _mayyybe._ What's in it for me?" She rubbed her fingers together like a greedy banker.

"You still owe me several thousand for our last shopping trip!"

"Chump change, and it was a gift on our first date, you cheapskate!" _First date? She's teasing me, right?_

_What does she want?_ "Uh... I'll pay you? A lot!"

"You have _tons_ of money!" _I do?_ "I want something _juicier._" She smirked dangerously. _Just what am I getting myself into?_ A sinking suspicion filled my mind. _No, it can't be that... what else could she possibly want, though?_

Dread filled my heart as I bit out, "I'll take you shopping." She arched her brow higher and gestured _more._ My heart sunk lower, into my stomach acids. "Once a month?" She quirked her brow, and gestured more insistently. "...Every other week?" Truly, I was a broken woman. She smiled, satisfied, and I prayed this was worth it.

"You're gonna be the most fashionable Xenomorph ever!" she squealed.

"What's a Xenomorph?" I was already dizzy with fear.

"Also, you're gonna buy me dinner tonight. I'm thinking pancakes!"

"Wait, what?"

"Dude, I'm starving. Come on, piggy-bank, give me a piggyback ride!" We were both all giggles as she twirled around and jumped on my back, saying _giddyup! _as she pointed in the direction of the nearest diner. We laughed and howled through the night as I carried her through the crisp night air.

* * *

One piggy-back ride later, and I was seated at a 24/7 diner with Lisa, stuffing our faces with pancakes. She'd ordered three cups of coffee and chocolate chip pancakes, while I'd gotten the family stack of strawberries and cream pancakes. A window was cracked open so I didn't fog up the whole building, and I was seated on the floor instead of a flimsy stool. Even so, I was a head taller than her. I stole one of her coffee cups, and she gave me a dirty eye before speaking up.

"As far as second dates go, I've had worse." _Are you serious about that? _I wanted to ask so badly.

"Just wait until I skip out and leave you with the bill," I said instead. Her smirk grew a little wider. I leaned in close and whispered, "What about the staff? Aren't they gonna say something about a giant bone-monster taking you out for dinner?" What I meant was, _is it safe to talk here_? I trusted she was smart enough to get the subtext.

"Perfectly safe. You technically own this place, after all." _I do? _Seeing my look of confusion, she rolled her eyes. "Really, how much do you know about your dad's work? This place is in _your_ territory, after all. Marquis used to hold business meetings here all the time." Dad always had an unhealthy appreciation for breakfast pastries, but it was hard to imagine him in his armor of bones, a crown on his head, eating pancakes while talking about the drug trade. "And don't worry about me, either," she continued, gesturing at her plainclothes and unmasked face. "There's ways to stay anonymous without a mask. Spies have been doing this for _decades_. It's harder now, but I'm just that good." Her smirk reached weapons-grade levels.

"So we're safe. Got it." I'd have to ask about her methods later. Would they work for a baby Godzilla? She narrowed her eyes at me.

"How do you know who Godzilla is but not a Xenomorph?" How did she-?!

"I thought you had trouble reading me!"

"Sure, I can't pick up a lot of subtle clues from you when you're focused. You barely twitch, breathe too slowly, and your face only moves with strong emotion." She leaned back, arms behind her head, which did... _interesting_ things for my view as her shirt rode up, exposing a slim midriff. "But right now you're relaxed, and I'm getting to know you as a person better. I can't get at your deepest, darkest secrets _yet_, but surface thoughts are easy. Also, you're just predictable: you're not totally comfortable with your body and keep comparing yourself to monsters. Sure, you're big and bony and have weird anatomy, but you're still really pretty." She blinked innocently up at me and I fought down a blush. _There's no way you don't know what you're doing to my feelings_. "We did come here to talk business though, right?" My mind scrambled to reorganize my thoughts, ignoring the butterflies in my chest.

"Right. So here's what's going on..."

* * *

"Wait, wait, wait. The guy who stole your mom away wants to kidnap you and your sister and Stockholm you into being his new family, and he's using Brandish and Brigade to do it? That's... intense."

"Yeah. I dunno if Amy knows yet or not. I want her to be here for this, to shut this fucker _down_, but... well," I finished lamely.

"She's with the Wards," Lisa picked up. "Honestly, I'm not surprised. The PRT wants healers, _badly_. With her power, she could be the best healer in the world. There isn't much the Director wouldn't do to get her hands on your sister."

"It's just not right, though!" My voice rose a bit, and I had to dial back my anger. "That's just not who she is. A healer. Amy's a fighter, always has been. You show her a fight and she'll charge in with a tree-monster, not... whatever this is."

"If it helps, Armsmaster has immediate control over the Wards, not the Director. She'd have to overrule him to change things, and that wouldn't look too good from a PR standpoint, calling his leadership into question. He'll see that she can be effective on the field, too." That did help, a bit. Just not as much as having Amy back would. "And... what are you gonna do about all this?" My thoughts slipped into analysis and plotting.

"My first step was getting you back," I started.

"So sweet of you," she saccharinely replied.

"Now that you're with me, we can work on some bigger plans."

"Wait, wait, wait. Are you saying you _don't have _a plan?" She looked incredulously at me from behind a forkful of pancake.

"I have a series of well-thought-out goals, and that's almost as good!" I defended myself.

"Really? Let's hear it, then." She raised an eyebrow in challenge.

"Rebuild the Marche, find a way around Daniel's power, take him down, and get Amy back!"

"Taylor, that's a Christmas wish list."

"Yeah, well, you're my Santa. Now how do we do this?" Lisa mouthed _you're my Santa_ to herself in bemusement, and I fought down a growing blush. Did I really just say that?

"Fine, fine. You want to rebuild? I can track down Bitch and Regent, but it's up to you to get them back on board. Vector will be easy. But you need more than just capes. You need resources. Now, money isn't too hard in that you already have a _lot _of it. Like, have you ever really looked at all the stuff the Marche owns?"

"...no?" I mumbled around a mouthful of strawberries and whipped cream. Business was _boring._ That was a fact, and it would never change. Find me a Nazi to punch, or a get-rich-quick scheme, sure, but looking at _numbers_. Eurgh. Lisa snorted at my expression.

"You do realize your brain is improving too, right? Use it, dum-dum." _Wait, it is?_ What did my brain look like? I'd have to ask Sheila. "The Marche is stupid rich. You still own the Lord's Market and most of the boardwalk. Most Rogues owe you a lot, and even if they're not paying taxes or protection money, you could ask for big favors from them and they'd happily give it. Now, could you be richer? _Absolutely_. Let me into those bank accounts and I'll invest, stockpile, diversify and scheme your way into Scrooge levels of money. Now, it'd take time, and you'll never be as rich as E88 or the Protectorate. PRT has a whole country behind them, and E88 has Gesselschaft as its parent."

"Done." I scribbled down the account number Dad had left Amy and I in his will. I'd never had cause to use it, save for buying my costume and equipment. Management was more Amy's thing. Still, if Lisa could make use of it, it was hers. She looked like the cat that ate the canary as she held access to millions of dollars in her hands.

"You won't regret this, I promise. But! Money isn't the only kind of resource. You need political favor, public approval_, people_. I can get you that too. You already have a good start in all the communities the Marche watches over. The Marche is probably the second best-respected cape organization in the city, actually. Again, you'll never beat out the PRT, not unless they royally fuck the dog. But you _can _do better. I'll contact a lawyer I know, see what I can do." A lawyer, helping us be better criminals? He'd have to be corrupt as hell. If she said it could be done, though, I had no option but to believe her.

"What about training and experience? If we're going to be a force in this city, our capes need to be tougher. When I fought Lung, and lost," she paled a bit at that reminder. She'd seen the aftermath, my burnt body, that I'd been unconscious for, after all. "I could have won that fight. I could've gone for the head, or stabbed his heart, or any number of things. And none of this would have happened. I'd have Amy, and the Marche wouldn't have fractured."

"Taylor.." she started carefully, "Is that... is that really the kind of person you want to turn yourself into? A killer?"

"No. But if I could trade Lung's life to get Amy back, I'd do it in a heart beat." I had to clamp down on the disagreement radiating from my stomach_. I could be a good person,_ it said. _I could be a hero, instead_. Sacrificing for the greater good or some hollow moral code wasn't an option when Amy was the cost. My beliefs weren't heroic. They were purely selfish, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

"I know. Just... think about it. Please." Lisa stared down into her coffee cup, thinking hard on her next words. "Killing changes you. Once you realize how little is holding you back from taking a life, it all becomes so... easy. Don't become that." Was that a tear in the corner of her eye? Among capes, certain questions just weren't asked. I knew in my gut that asking about this was one of those questions.

"Okay. I'll... think about it." She smiled gratefully at me, and I felt uncomfortable at how ready I was to slide down that slope. _Where is it? That voice that's supposed to tell me this is wrong?_

"Still though," she sniffed and wiped at her eyes, "we can train. Get used to our powers, find new ways to use them, learn teamwork. Getting tougher isn't about being okay with pulling the trigger, it's just... handling whatever life throws at you. And we can do that. I think you'd be good at that, actually. You're smarter than you give yourself credit for, even without the upgrades."

"I'll have to take your word for it." I didn't want to sound dismissive, but... everything so far had been a result of me not thinking things through. She thought I could train a small army of capes? I'd believe it when I saw it. "And what about Daniel?"

"No idea," she answered. "This is the first I've heard of him. I've never seen his power at work. There are ways around human Masters, but those mostly involve avoiding unknowns and working in their blind spots. Powerful enough Masters can set up armies of slaves to act without the Master's influence, too. That's why Heartbreaker's never been dealt with. Every one of his victims truly believes they love him. Kill him, and you have dozens of women ready to kill in revenge."

"There has to be a way."

"Of course there is. The problem is, that way likely involves a shitload of collateral damage. Human Masters are like a cancer. Even when you're careful in removing it, the body will hurt."

"So there's no way to remove him without hurting innocents?" I hated this guy more with every moment.

"Probably not, no. We can assume he already has control over Brandish and Brigade. And there's his son to consider. Whatever you do, even taking him down non-lethally, it's going to be messy." Her eyes were practically begging me to change my mind, to leave this alone.

"He _needs _to be taken down. Maybe it's not too late to get him help, but I won't bet on it. If we can find a way to take care of him while hurting as few others as possible, I'm all for it, but we need to do it quickly." She sighed heavily.

"Alright, he's gotta go. I'll... look into it." I squeezed her hand softly in gratitude, and she looked up at me. "Now what?" I finished the last bite of my pancakes, and fished out a twenty, leaving it on the table before standing up.

"You said Vector got hurt? I wanna check on him." We left the diner, heading for Lord's Market and the Marche's headquarters. _We never did finish moving in._


	15. Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE: Confrontation and Confession

* * *

To me, it was just yesterday that I'd been beaten and burned alive right here. I could see where Lung's fire had melted the now glass-like asphalt, the hole where I'd dug my spear into his foot, the larger impacted areas where he'd unleashed explosions. Vividly I could recall the scrape of scale against bone where I'd cut into his side, the purple and black that filled my eyes as they were burned away. The air felt cold and still, as though nobody had been here in some time. The windows of the warehouse looked grimier than I recalled.

Lisa placed a hand on my arm, and squeezed reassuringly. I dipped my head and let a small smile of gratitude show. "You okay being here? I can talk to him myself," she offered.

"No. I mean, yeah, I'm good. But I have to do this myself." I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders, before twisting the door knob and letting us in. I had to stoop to get through. "Adam?" My call felt constrained in the oppressively small entryway. A pained croak answered me though, and I caught sight of Adam curled up on a couch, leg propped up on a pillow and clutching an ice pack to his head.

"Who...?" He stiffly lowered the ice pack, and propped himself up slowly and with grunting effort on one elbow. When he saw me standing there, hands clutched in front of me, he rubbed his eyes, blinked owlishly, and flopped back down. "Fucking painkillers." _I don't have time for this._

I stomped forwards and thumped him in the chest, softly in my opinion, and he curled in on himself, wheezing. "Fuck! Taylor?!"

"Fuck, me!" I shouted in his face. "What kind of goddamn welcome is this?! The place looks like a dump, you look _worse,_ and when I show up to save your sorry ass, you treat me like a fucking ghost!"

"I don't need saving!" He shouted right back at me, struggling to prop himself back up. I pushed him back down when it seemed he was about to.

"Really? 'Cause from where I'm standing, you look like you got your ass handed to you by a bunch of Nazis, and that's not how the Marche does things. So who the hell do you think you are, acting like the last one standing when you _can't even stand?"_ He tried to shove me back, but it was so weak that I wouldn't have budged even before my trigger.

"I _was _the last one standing! Where the hell were you? _I _fought back. _I _didn't roll over and let those two-bit _Kampf_tards walk all over _our_ fucking town!"

"_I _was in a coma, regrowing all my skin."

"Wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been a dumbass."

"Lotta things wouldn't have happened if I weren't a dumbass."

"Then maybe try not being a dumbass!"

"Maybe try not being a womanizing asshole!" I pulled him tightly to me in a hug, and let the burning in my eyes flow freely. "Fuck you, Adam. I missed you." He wrapped his good arm around me and squeezed.

"Missed you too, you crazy bony bitch."

"Am... am I missing something here?" Lisa poked her head through the door, looking very much like an alarmed cat.

""No!"" Adam and I shouted together.

"'Cause I feel like I'm missing something here," she mumbled, slinking back through the door. Adam and I both looked at the door, back to each other, and startled laughs escaped us. Eventually, his laugh collapsed into pained coughs, and I let him go to look over him.

"What happened to you?"

"I could ask the same, but the answer would be 'turned into a bone-in steak, wouldn't recommend it,' huh?" A wheezing laugh at his own stupid joke. "Krieg. He's the worst fucking guy for me to fight. Couldn't do jack shit. He walked right through my power like it was two-ply and beat me with a cane like a little kid, broke both my legs. Said he'd make me 'kneel like the lower race I am'. He let me crawl away."

"Shit," I let out. Krieg and Adam were a horrible match. The Nazi lieutenant could control local kinetic forces, meeting no resistance when he moved. Anything moving towards him would slow down or be redirected, while his own actions were amplified. He could totally ignore Adam's acceleration fields, and anything launched through them. As far as I knew, his power even worked on bullets.

"Yeah, shit." We sat in silence for a moment, ruminating on both our losses. "The boss is really gone, then?" His voice was thick and heavy, the usual showman's tone totally absent.

"The boss is right here, dipshit." His eyes widened.

"Wait, you mean- _hrk!" _A pained cough as his chest tightened in protest to his sudden movement. I gently forced him back down.

"Hazard's gone, yeah. But the Marche isn't dead. She told me not to give up, and I have no plans on doing so. I'm gonna lead." It still felt silly to say, but I had to make it real.

"I know I pushed for it, but... you sure you're up for this? Nothing's stopping you from heroing up and being with your sister. It's what I'd do in your shoes." There was no condescension in his eyes, just sympathy.

"This is the best thing I can do for her. I'm not going to try and pretend I'm ready for this, though. I need help. You're the most experienced cape I know. Lisa's good with plans and numbers, but she doesn't have the kind of practical knowledge you do when it comes to running a gang. You with me, V?"

"Shit, kid. I was just waiting for you to ask!" He gave me a confident smile, the effect lessened by his bedridden state. "So, what's the plan?"

* * *

"That's a terrible plan. Hell, that's not even a _plan._ It's a shopping list at a costume party pretending to be a plan."

"Told you so!" Lisa crowed triumphantly from the chair she'd just grabbed.

"You _kept it?!" _I gestured furiously at the armchair she'd pulled up beside me. It was a La-Z-Boy, with two blackened imprints of hands on the arm rests and a similarly charred pair of semicircular imprints on the seat.

"It's _comfy!_" She defended her choice of reclining. "And you're deflecting. Shitty plan."

"Yeah, well, that's what I have you two for."

"I better get paid more for masterminding," Lisa grumbled.

"You get paid for this?" Adam's eyes were wide.

"Hazard didn't pay you?"

"_Everybody_ gets paid!" I interrupted.

"How much?" He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at me.

"I dunno, a lot. Lisa will draw up something later."

"I will?" Now _her _eyes were wide.

"Well, I won't, so you will if you want to get paid. Can we move on, please?" It was like trying to make a child with ADHD color between the lines.

"Fine! But you better pay us both, like a lot!" Adam bumped fists with her, and she dipped her chin at him. _They're going to drain me dry._ "So Vector's on the team-"

"Not that I ever left."

"-not that he ever left, and we're back in this dump. Do we go after Bitch and Regent?"

"Damn right we do!" Adam declared.

I hesitated for a moment. "I'm not so sure." At his surprised look of anger, I explained. "They're not dedicated to this gang like you are, Adam. Bitch was barely here for a month, and I don't think Regent cares about anybody but himself. I don't know if they _want _to come back."

"You've gotta try," he insisted. "We don't give up on our own."

"_They _gave up on _us,"_ I reminded him. "But you're right. I can at least try. Lis, can you get their locations?" Adam raised an eyebrow and wiggled it. _What is he- oh shit._

"So it's 'Lis' now, huh? Something happen between you two?" I fought down the blood rushing to my face at the stupid slip of the tongue, and was shocked to see Lisa _actually blushing_.

"I- uh."

"Well said, Boss. Anything to say for yourself, young lady?" He directed his gaze pointedly at Lisa. _What's going through her head?_ Instead of answering, she totally ignored him and looked to me instead, eyes laser-focused and determined.

"Taylor, can we talk?" _Oh fuck, she wants to 'talk.'_

"No!" I reflexively shouted. At both of their stunned looks, I caved. "...yes," I muttered. Adam poorly hid a snort of laughter, and Lisa took my hand and led me upstairs, to my own room. _Is this actually happening? It can't be, right?_

* * *

"I'm sorry!" I blurted out as soon as the door closed. "I know you said you're not into... this, I was in a weird head space, and tonight was just..." At her bemused look, I felt a huff of petty anger. _Are my feelings a game that went too far?_

"Shit, girl, calm your tits!" I huffed and stamped my foot. I could have tamped down any errant emotions, but this conversation felt too important for me to be a robot. "I like you too, dum-dum. Thought I was being pretty damn obvious."

"Wh-huh? But you said-" _But that means- and she said- did I just- huh?_

"Yeah, my power fucks with relationships. It tells me shit I really don't want to know, total mood-killer stuff that makes me want to gargle bleach. It's the biggest clam-jam ever. Something about you, though. Every day, my power gets quieter around you. I can _direct_ it at you, but even then, it just gives me surface stuff. I can actually be with you like a normal person!"

"So... wait, you like me because I'm your only option?" That was more than a little insulting.

"Shit, no! This is coming out wrong. I wouldn't like you just because my power doesn't shove your fetishes and dirty secrets into my brain. You're a good person, Taylor. You _care_, like nobody else I've met."

"Isn't this... kinda fast?" I felt dizzy, like I was falling out of a plane. Lisa was the parachute and I was too afraid to grab hold. "I've only known you for less than a month, and half that was spent in a coma!"

"I thought so too, when I realized how I felt, that I was rushing into things. But you know what? I don't care! We're career villains and could die any day. The Empire could decide to finally wipe us out, or Lung could try to finish the job, or a newbie hero could get carried away with _just _the right power. And that's just _local _threats. I saw you almost die already, Taylor. I wasn't gonna wait and see if we survived long enough to try this out." Protest died in my throat as I realized that I didn't _want _to protest. I wanted this, wanted _her._

"You're... serious about this? About me, like _this?_" I gestured at my body, forever encased in armor. "You have the chance to live a normal life. I have no choice but to _always _be a parahuman." She reached out and gently held my own massive hand in both of her smaller ones before answering.

"You're not some horrifying creature, Taylor. You're beautiful."

"No, I'm not." I tried to pull my hand back, but she came with it and pulled me to sit with her on my bed. "I'm a monster, Lis. And it's just gonna get worse. I can't even be called human at this point."

"Maybe I'm into weird shit?" Her tone said she was playing around, but her face was earnest. "Your body... it's like a work of art to me. There's so much _detail,_ so many incredible little things I don't think you've even noticed."

"Like what?" I was honestly curious. I thought Sheila categorized everything about my body.

"Well... I hacked into the PRT databases while you were being held at the hospital. They ran blood tests on you. But you don't even _have _blood!" Aside from her hacking into the most secure government computers in the world...

"What? Yes I do!" I poked a claw into my palm as demonstration, and a vibrant luminous blue liquid seeped up, tiny motes of light dancing on its surface before the small scratch sealed shut. I couldn't decide whether to be more surprised by the color or the healing, so shrugged my mental shoulders and rolled with both. "I mean... it's a weird color, but it's still blood!"

"Except that's not blood!" She had an excited look on her face. "It acts like blood, but there's _no _chemical similarity, not even water or oxygen! It's actually a free-floating liquid matrix of hyper-dense crystalline structures containing a shitload of data, and it does all sorts of cool stuff like repair your skin and automatically absorb impacts," she explained.

"That... went totally over my head," I confessed.

"Okay, so it's like... every little particle of your blood is its own complete organ. It can act as armor for your other internal organs, or analyze and reproduce toxins you ingest. The venom in your tail is actually repurposed blood, and attacks the blood of its victim, thinning it out and depleting its oxygen levels. And holy shit, your _tail! _Did you know it has more nerve endings than my whole body? Except, uh, not really, because you don't _have _nerve endings but rather spectrum-sensitive receptors that-"

"Okay, okay, I get it!" I giggled. "I'm glad you're so into my body. Yours... uh, looks nice, too," I lamely finished. Still, she blushed and smiled, and it was _such a nice smile._ She sounded like a nerd talking about her favorite fandom when she talked about me... _Is that what romance is? Like nerding out about each other? I can do that! _"I'd trade powers with you if I could, you know. Having all the answers must be nice." She smiled, but it didn't seem like a happy one to me.

"It was at first," she confessed. "Never having to study, knowing just what to say to make people like you. But eventually you'll get answers you never wanted to learn. Did your parents really love you? Is that stranger on the street really a selfless person for helping that girl who fell down, or is he grooming a victim? Ignorance... can be bliss."

"I guess the grass is greener and all that. Would you trade it?"

"...maybe. I don't know. I would've said yes before coming to this city. Now, I'm not so sure." She shot me a small, shy smile, nothing like her usual smirk. _Because of me?_ It felt arrogant to assume so. "What's your power like, to you?" _I guess it's story time._

"So the first week, I had _no idea _what was going on. I got taller and a little stronger, and thought maybe I was just hitting a growth spurt. Then my socks ripped themselves apart over night, and I figured something was up. Amy guessed what happened first. Said my power was a 'progressive biological improvement.' I called bullshit, because losing two toes is _not _an improvement-" she giggled with me, and the sound was like audible candy- "but I don't have a better description of it. She'd examine me every morning and tell me what changed that day. Some of the changes were better than others, like not having morning breath or bed head-"

"Oh, _bullshit!" _Lisa complained. "There's no way your power fixed _bad hair_." I raised an eyebrow in challenge. "Dammit, seriously?! I want that!"

"Yeah, well, I also lost a lot. My eyes used to be brown, you know. Like my dad's. And I used to have black curls."

"Do you have any old pictures?" She looked up at me hopefully.

"Yeah, but..." I shifted awkwardly.

"Oh come on, don't wimp out on me! I'm not asking for baby pics!"

"Fine! Just no laughing!" I reached for the desk by Amy's unused bed, shuffling through it for what I _knew _would be there. And there it was: a thick, hard-covered scrap book, with a few dozen pages laden down with pictures, locks of hair from our first hair cuts, birthday cards and early school mementos. Lisa raised her eyebrow in interest, and I passed it to her. She flipped open the cover, and saw the inscription on the inside, written in careful, looping cursive: _To my beautiful daughters. Family never leaves you._ Her eyes were soft and smile tender as she read that. "Just... get it over with, please? I don't even look like her any more."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, it can't be that- _holy shit! _That's _you?!_" Her eyes flicked incredulously back and forth between the humanoid stick bug in the pictures and myself. "But- but- _how?!"_

"Powers are bullshit," I declared.

"Would it be mean to say you're _way _hotter now?"

"A little bit," I wrinkled my nose playfully. "At least I have curves now."

"Do you ever!" She wriggled her eyebrows, and I couldn't help but laugh. "The bone armor might make cuddles awkward-" _wait, she wants to cuddle?! I'm not emotionally prepared for that! _"-but it's also kinda sexy. Stuff does _wonders _for your figure." Did it really? I hadn't looked in a mirror since waking up.

"I still can't rock a spandex leotard like you," I gushed. That dangerous smirk came back full-force.

"M-hm! _Some _of us have to go to the gym to get our figures! Guess effort really does pay off in the end!" She preened and posed, and I whacked her with a pillow. She toppled back, laughing, and I fell back with her. Eventually, she laid her head on my chest and joined me in examining the ceiling.

"It's actually not too uncomfortable," she finally broke the silence.

"Hmm?"

"Your skin, or bone, or armor. Whatever. It's warm and tingly, and I can feel your heart through it." She laid her hand on my midriff, every ab muscle defined by its own plating, and lightly skimmed the surface. Touch was an interesting sensation to experience through the armor, as I didn't expect to feel _any _but still did so, better than before, even.

"Mmh." I placed my hand on top of hers, marveling at how tiny and delicate she seemed laying next to my own hulking frame.

"Taylor, can I..." She looked searchingly up at me with those too-clever green eyes, an unspoken question dancing between them. Rather than finish asking, she instead twisted around so that she was leaning over me, and quickly darted forwards, face rapidly approaching my own. _Is she-?!_

Her lips barely touched mine, and for the briefest of moments, I felt like the biggest idiot in the world. There was no other thought on my mind but that light touch, no other concern or sensation but that dainty, wicked mouth gently pressed on my own startled open lips. There was the barest flicker of tongue, more curious than passionate. All too soon, it was over, and she flashed me a nervous smile so unlike her. "Thanks," she finally said, before getting up off the bed. Already I missed her warmth. _Is this what it's like to be addicted?_ The mischievous glint in her eye told me she knew _exactly _what I'd been thinking, and wholeheartedly approved. "Come on, before Vector decides we're doing something naughty and tries to peek!"

"Shit, that might actually happen. _Go!"_ I chased her laughing out of the room.

* * *

Adam didn't say anything about Lisa and I sitting closer to each other than before, or how our hands kept "accidentally" touching. No, he just smiled his infuriating, knowing smile and pretended not to notice._ Damn cripple._ I wanted him to make a stupid joke, like "who's gonna make the sandwiches?" But no, he just kept that stupid smile. I knew exactly what he was thinking, too: _Ah, young love. _It made me want to punch his teeth in. I didn't, of course, because it might kill him, and I still needed his help running my gang. _But if it weren't for that..._ I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Still hoping for laser eyes?" Lisa questioned from my side, looking much more comfortable with the situation than I felt.

"If it happens now, I can claim it was an accident and that I didn't know I could do that. We could hide the body in the bay, and his face would be too burned to identify. The perfect crime." Adam finally relented and dropped the smile in favor of an offended look.

"You'd deprive billions of women the world over the opportunity to see this beautiful face!"

"Be doing them a favor, more like. Can't ogle them without any eyeballs."

"Seriously, what's up with you two?" Lisa threw her hands up in exasperation. "Do you hate each other? A forbidden love? Long-lost siblings?"

"Ew on two of those," I poorly suppressed a shudder. "Adam is..." I struggled for the word.

"Taylor's like..." he tried to supply.

"Yeah!" We nodded at the same time, coming to a perfect understanding.

"...huh?" Lisa still looked lost. Maybe not a _perfect _understanding, then.

"What, your power doesn't tell you?" Adam asked. Honestly, her power was infuriating. What were its limits? Why did it hate romance?

"That would be cheating! I don't use my power on _every _little puzzle, you know. There's an actual, working brain up here."

"Why else do you think I keep you around?" I teased, ruffling her hair. She grumpily straightened it out while side-eyeing me.

"Fashion advice, emotional support, and eye candy?"

"You're not wrong," I easily admitted, and was rewarded with a satisfied smirk. Was I already learning how to read her smirks? Day one, and relationship goals were being met!

"Go right ahead and keep making bedroom eyes at each other," Adam grumbled. "Just make the cripple _walk away _if it gets uncomfortable."

"Like you'd complain!" I shot back. "You'd ask if you could film us."

"Maybe when you're a mature woman and not a snot-nosed brat!"

"Still more mature than you!" We stuck our tongues out at each other, and Lisa started snickering.

"Definitely past-life siblings," she commented.

""Ew."" Adam and I eyed each other as we spoke at the same time.

"Changing topics, because it's honestly sickening watching you two be a cuter couple than us!" I was torn between being gagging at the idea of _Adam and I_ and blushing at her easy admission of us being a couple. "Before our, ah... _interruption_, we agreed to _try _and get Regent and Bitch back. And, of course, I have a plan for that!"

"Oh thank Scion," I muttered. "You know where to find them?"

"Regent is easy," she started her explanation with a flourish of her hand, producing her phone and quickly flicking through pages. "He isn't who he says he is, spoiler-alert, and he's trying to leave the city. No ID, no connections outside of Brockton Bay. So..." She looked back and forth from Adam and I excitedly, slowly turning disappointed as neither of us got it. She finally gave up with an eye-roll. "He's been saving up money to ask Faultline's crew to smuggle him out."

"What kind of deadline are we on, here?" If he were trying to leave the city, state, country, whatever- I had to get to him before then. Although letting him leave wouldn't break my heart.

"I can't be certain. Guessing from his current finances and Faultline's usual fees for smuggling human cargo..." Just how often did the mercenary guild take that kind of contract? "He could buy her services tonight." I cursed lowly.

"So he's first on the list, then," Adam stated.

"Not... necessarily," she hedged. "Bitch may be more urgent."

"How urgent are we talking?" I leaned forward, tail swishing with nervous energy.

"She's going after a dog-fighting ring. Empire territory. Like, _right now._"

"And you're _just now telling us this?!"_ I jumped from my seat, already heading for the door. "Adam, don't break anything while we're gone."

"How am I gonna break anything with two broken legs!" He complained, gesturing at the propped up mangled limbs.

"You'll manage!" I called back, closing the door behind Lisa and me. I stooped down so she could hop on my back, and leapt for the nearest roof, mist streaming behind me. "You couldn't have said anything sooner?!"

"It just showed up on PHO!" She screamed over the wind directly into my ear. I cursed as we hit the graveled surface running.

"Where are we headed?"

"Southwest of here," she pointed her finger, "four miles. _Hurry!" _I grit my teeth and poured on speed as we flew across the cityscape, leaping from one building to another. We were headed for the southern edge of town, where suburban development gave way to industrial complexes. Smoke stacks broke up the skyline, the ocean barely visible in the distance from this height.

Mere minutes later, halfway to our destination, the silence of the night previously occupied only by the scrape of my talons finding purchase on gravel was broken by a high-pitched whizzing. My ears twitched at the sound, pinpointing it as coming from behind and above me, and I instinctively jumped backwards. The projectile thudded into the paved roof exactly where I would have occupied had I not done so. Lisa grunted from the sudden deceleration, and I set her down behind a chimney before facing my attacker.

A thick cloud of black fell silently from the adjacent roof, a patch of starless darkness against the night sky before resolving into a human figure before me. A girl, dressed in a black long-coat and a sternly frowning woman's face as a mask, pointing a crossbow one-handed directly at me. "You're that new kid, Vanguard." Her voice was a cold sneer, on the edge of violence. "In a hurry? Where you going?"

"Off your leash, Shadow Stalker?" Lisa called from her position. The Ward turned to face her, and I charged forwards in preparation for a tackle. As my feet left the ground, however, she turned insubstantial, and I sailed directly through her before landing again. As she made contact with the mist slowly spreading across the rooftop, Shadow Stalker reverted to flesh and stumbled in the act, swiveling her head in a panic.

"What is this shit!" She screamed, pointing her crossbow at me once again.

"I don't have time for you," I crossbow bolt was unleashed, momentarily flickering insubstantial before flying through the mist and reverting to metal, pinging uselessly off my armor. I walked through it, picking up speed as I charged at the Ward. She tried to disappear once more, but merely flickered in place. With a frustrated growl, she dropped her crossbow and tried to dodge to the side, but was simply too slow to avoid my crushing impact. I grabbed her neck in one hand and bore her to the ground, punching her once in the face. Her skull clacked off the gravel, bouncing once. When she fell silent after that, I checked for breathing just to satisfy my paranoid mind and sighed in relief when I found it, slow but steady. At my side, Lisa bent down to pick up the crossbow bolt that had broken against me. Noticing my inquiring look, she shrugged.

"Might come in handy, who knows. Hurry up!" She hopped into position on my back, and once more, we were off. The dog-fighting ring couldn't have been far, now.


	16. Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Caged Animal

* * *

Three blocks away from my destination, and the noise was like a hornet in my ear: relentless, deafening and terrifying in its intensity. Across an open parking lot filled to the brim with motorcycles and muscle cars crashing into each other in their efforts to escape was a squat brick-and-mortar building with once-boarded-up windows. Those boards were now broken outwards, and people streamed out like bees in a burning nest, screaming bloody murder. Beneath the screams was an assault on my senses: exhaust fumes, cigarette smoke, unwashed dogs, unwashed people- all of it mixed into a cloying, choking mixture. As I watched, one skinhead who'd just cleared the windows was suddenly pulled back into the building by a massive fanged maw closing on his leg. Another moment, and the same skinhead was flung back out the same way, considerably bloodier.

"Shit, she started already!" Lisa cursed from my back.

"What gave it away?" She thumped me on the back of the head.

"Not now, smartass! Bitch is going to get herself killed." As she hopped off my back and made for the edge of the roof, I grabbed her shoulder.

"I need you up here, watching for me. I'll go in, sort things, and get her out." Any fear or hesitation was chewed up and spat out as unnecessary. Lisa nodded stiffly, wringing her hands out before pulling out a pair of earbuds and hopping up to stuff them in my ears. With a crackle of static, they connected to her radio backpack.

"She's fighting somebody, right now. Get in there!" Lisa pushed at my back. As I hopped off the roof and ran through the parking lot, smashing aside bikes as necessary, her voice buzzed in my ear. "_It's Hookwolf. And it's not going well for her."_ The very next second, a massive body shot through the wall I was headed for, bouncing and skidding across the pavement in a shower of pulverized bricks before crashing into a car. As the limp form passed by me, I recognized it as one of Bitch's monstrous dogs, butchered and bloodied, missing a limb and half of its flank. A scream of fury followed afterwards, barely noticeable against the wall of human noise in the air.

"Bitch, what the hell were you thinking?" I demanded of nobody. People ran around me when they could; otherwise, they were shoved to the ground and left to the stampeding crowd. I ran across the last half of the stretch of pavement, entering through the recently made hole in the wall into a dimly-lit, smoke-laden room, decorated as an arena with a wide sandy pit dug in the middle, filled with people running for their lives. Massive beasts ran amok, trampling the crowd. I couldn't make out Bitch in the crowd, but Hookwolf was easy to spot: a towering blender of sharp edges endlessly whirling about, in the vaguest shape of a wolf. Bitch's hounds darted around him in a loose pattern: one would get his attention by running straight at him, jaws open to close on his head, while another would be behind him, ready to take a swipe at his legs or pin him down. The beasts were too dumb to realize they were only damaging the metal, not the man. Meanwhile, Hookwolf would land a single hit and tear off massive chunks of flesh from the dogs. I dimly recalled Bitch being capable of healing her dogs, but the exact mechanism wasn't clear to me, and these dogs looked very badly injured.

As the lead hound took Hookwolf's head in its jaws, the metal monstrosity whirled the blades forming the lupine head around, shredding the dog's mouth. It released the Changer immediately, blood pouring from its panting mouth, and then Hookwolf noticed me. With a quick stab to the chest with an outstretched arm, the dog attacking him dropped limply to the floor as he swiveled his head to look at me. "_Another one?!" _His voice echoed from within the wolf's chest, chopped as though he spoke through a quickly spinning fan. "_Like a bunch of mutts could take me!"_ His claws left furrows in the concrete of the floor as he tensed whatever he had in place of muscles. I let arcs of electricity idly spin off my arms, flexing my fingers.

"You don't wanna fight me, Hookwolf. After the day I've had, I'm _not_ interested in playing nice. I'm taking Bitch and leaving." More metal poured out from the core of the blender-beast, adding to his height and bulk until he was looming over me. The single dog left standing flattened its ears at the sight, and a shrill whistle barely audible over the panicked crowd had it running away. _Bitch? But where is she? _

"_That's where you're wrong, kiddo,_" Hookwolf growled. "_I _really _wanna fight you_." His ever-shifting form flowed back onto two legs, the former forelegs becoming massive clawed arms, transforming him into a werewolf-like figure- if werewolves were made of chainsaws. "_You and that dog-fucker can see each other in hell!_" He rose both arms into the air and joined his hands together before taking a single huge step forwards and smashing downwards. While I might've been bulletproof, I wasn't keen on finding out whether or not I could take that kind of hit from a multi-ton racist meat grinder. Instead, I leaped upwards, wrapping my tail around a metal support beam to steady myself, then dropped into the spinning dervish of blades that was Hookwolf. I drove my fist deep into the metal lupine figurehead and seized a blade in my armored hand, then let loose from the storm within me. White-hot lightning poured down my arm, setting the metal aglow and filling the air with the stench of ozone. His body locked up, the blades all standing on end like quills, rattling in the air.

"Change back before I cook you alive!" I screamed. As one giant, clawed arm rotated impossibly with its lack of joints to knock me off, I hacked downwards with my tail, shattering the metal and sending the limb flying off.

"_RAAAGH! YOU FUCKING BITCH!"_ Beneath the metal, I could see his flesh writhing as the unceasing current burned away at him. He'd lost his human form under the blades, turning into a gooey mass supported by the countless edges erupting from his skin. As the metal began to retract, I choked back on the current flowing through me, ready to pour more power into it should he try anything.

"_Get out of the way!" _Mycroft's voice screamed in my ear. I immediately threw myself as far away as I could, crashing and rolling onto the floor. The slowly-building mist in the now mostly empty room gave me barely enough warning of motion before _dozens_ of gigantic, monstrous dogs burst from beneath the floor, scrambling madly over each other, froth dripping from fangs and eyes wildly spinning in their bloodshot sockets. Riding atop one was Bitch, her mask cast aside and staring hatefully down at the now-human Hookwolf.

"_You killed my Angela."_ Her voice was nearly feral, packing as much hurt and pain into every syllable as humanly possible. Bitch's face was pulled into a rictus of hatred, lips set in a bloodcurdling snarl, ready to tear the skin from his face with her teeth if need be. "_KILL!_" She screamed the word at the dogs, who needed no encouragement to attack their abuser.

"Bitch, _no!"_ I scrambled to stop her, but it was too late- Hookwolf was insensate on the floor, after I'd forced him to change back. The dogs saw an easy kill, and scrambled over each other to get their pound of flesh. They bit and tore at one another in their haste to get to their prey, who quickly disappeared beneath the pile of beasts. I couldn't hear a single scream through the barking and wet squelches. So very quickly, it was over, the dogs running off once the life was gone from the defenseless man, bounding through the hole-riddled building. Within moments, it was just me, Bitch, a few unconscious Nazis, and Hookwolf's flayed corpse. "Oh, Scion. Bitch, what did you do?!"

She was standing over his body, staring soullessly at his mauled face. "He killed my dog." Gone was the hate and pain in her voice, leaving only an empty ache. "He killed a lot of dogs. People, too. He can't, any more." She turned to me, her typically scowling face totally blank, save her red-rimmed eyes. "We need to go." As if that justified everything, she started walking away.

"_We?"_ She stopped in her tracks at my voice. "There is no 'we,' Rachel. Not now. You _killed _him. Kaiser's left-hand man. The entire Empire is going to be after you, for what you did. You need to leave. Leave Brockton Bay, and don't come back." What would Kaiser do because of this? Plenty of gangers saw me here. It wouldn't be a stretch for him to think I killed Hookwolf to help Bitch out. _Shit._

The void in Rachel's face was replaced by familiar anger. "You're abandoning me. _Again!_ Your fucking family is all the same! Your daddy left you, your _sister _left you, and now _you're leaving me!_ Fuck you, you _fucking _bitch!" She'd stomped towards me, screaming all the while until she was right in front of me. I stooped down low until we were face to face, and spoke my reply lowly.

"You're a murderer, Rachel. Anybody else would kill you right here and deliver your corpse to Kaiser as a fucking _apology_ for what you did. But unlike you, I'm not a killer. Get the _fuck _out." She bared her teeth at me and looked ready to punch my face- instead, she finally looked down and backed away. "It didn't have to be like this. I came to get you back, until you did _this_," I gestured at Hookwolf's body.

"You're lying," she grit out. "It's all you fuckers ever do. I hope Behemoth takes a shit on you." That was the last thing she said before stomping out of the building.

"...shit," I breathed. "What the hell are we going to do about this mess?" Mycroft's voice was very quiet as she answered.

"I don't know, Tee. I just... hope things work out for her."

"For _her?_ Mycroft, she _killed _him!" I looked back at the dead body. _I can't be in this room any more._ I ran out of the room, bounding across the emptied parking lot. There was an empty husk of flesh, rotting on the ground in one of the parking spaces. _Did it survive?_ One dead dog threw Bitch into a rage- I hoped, for her sake, that some survived and would find her. She didn't need to be alone right now. Across the lot, Mycroft was sitting on the edge of a roof, legs bunched up and head between her knees. I jogged the rest of the way and clambered up the building to sit beside her. The concrete lip crumbled just a bit beneath me.

"You didn't really know her, Taylor," she started. "She wasn't..."

"Functional? Sane?" I offered.

"I know you're just being a bitch because you're stressed, but you really _are _being a bitch right now," she scolded me. "You should know how powers mess with your mind better than most. Don't think I haven't noticed."

"Noticed what?" I turned to face fully towards her, angled back to not seem looming.

"The... I don't know what to call it. You stifle your own emotions whenever you feel like you're losing control of the situation. You're not learning how to manage them, you're just making them _go away._ That can't be healthy, you know." Her face was softly concerned, eyebrows pinched together.

"I can manage myself just fine, thanks. But I can't afford to lose control. People need me." I struggled not to do exactly as she'd said and throttle my annoyance.

"Who? Don't take this the wrong way, because it's gonna sound bad, but you're not as needed as you think. Amy isn't relying on you. She's off by herself with the Wards. Bitch _clearly _doesn't give a shit any more. Adam's a grown man. I'm my own person, too. If you lose your cool every once in a while, it's not the end of the world," she soothed.

"You're right," I chuckled, with a playful swat of my tail. "That sounded _really _bad." She opened her mouth to defend herself before I continued. "Guess you're right, though. I can't use other people as an excuse for my behavior, yeah?"

"Mmh," she hummed, "More like you're not so important that the whole world relies on you," she stuck her tongue out. "I think you get the gist of it. Just... open up a bit more, please? You're already living inside armor. Don't wall up inside, too." Her big, green eyes looked so hopeful that it hurt. Here we were, moments after a murder and exiling a member of our team, and all I could think about was how kissable she looked in the moonlight just like that. Did that make me a cold person? With the heat in my chest, I couldn't see how. I stretched forward, slowly and sinuously, to press a kiss on her forehead, my hand on her cheek.

"I promise not to shut out the people important to me," I whispered. Her eyes twinkled softly.

"Does that include...?" I thwapped her on the leg before she could finish.

"Yes, dammit! You're important to me. Right below Frankie." Her brow narrowed in confusion.

"...who?" She looked like she couldn't decide between playing at offended or honest curiosity.

"A family pet... kinda. Amy made him when she was first experimenting with the limits of her powers. Little green slime ball?" Her eyes widened in recognition, before narrowing in suspicion.

"That thing's _alive?!_ I used it as a pillow! It won't eat me alive, will it?"

"_He_ is a little ball of love, and wouldn't hurt a fly! Frankie eats dead skin, not people. And he probably loved the cuddles." She let out a sigh of relief at that, before snapping back to attention.

"And I'm less important than him?!" Before she could hit me, I raised my hands in defense.

"He has seniority!" The explanation didn't help at all, and I was punched square in the chest for my trouble. While she shook out her bruised knuckles, I mimed falling over- as though those twigs she called arms could move me anywhere. Our playfighting was interrupted by a parade of cars coming from deeper Empire territory. "Shit, we gotta get moving. Regent's supposed to be at the Docks by now." As Lisa clambered onto my back and we set off once more into the night, a grief-stricken scream rang out behind us, and a massive monolithic spike of metal shot up into the sky. Any good mood built between us was torn to tatters by the noise. _How dare there be joy,_ it said. And, to myself, I asked: Why didn't I care about his death? I cared about the problems it caused for me, but not for the man himself. Nobody could answer me as I ran off, Lisa clinging to me in the cold night.

* * *

I skidded to a halt on a rooftop overlooking the furthest pier of the Docks, Mycroft letting out a low _oof _at the sudden deceleration. "You need a saddle," she mumbled.

"I'm not into that," I absentmindedly replied as I looked down at the pier. The majority of the port was occupied by the Boat Graveyard, the result of disgruntled Dockworkers engaging in fruitless protest against a collapsing industry. Countless skeletal structures sat submerged just beneath the waves, their rusted prows sticking up like beggars' hands. Those involved had doomed this section of the city to poverty, and themselves to unemployment, as the Dockworkers' Union collapsed into a memory of better days. No mayor had found the funds to get rid of the eyesore, and so there it stayed. The surrounding area, meanwhile, had fallen prey to unpowered small-time gangs, the major players not seeing the Docks as worth anything.

Further past the sunken ships, however, were a series of small piers, just large enough to dock a dinghy. They were mostly overlooked as only fit for recreational use, since any major smuggling operation would need more security than a tiny pier with no cover. In the dead of night, however, it was perfect for smuggling a single person out of the city. And there, standing on the edge of the pier and tying off a small motorboat, was a large man blending into the black waters with his all-black outfit of a leather jacket, chaps, and a motorcycle helmet. Dark smoke poured out from him, radiating out from his helmet and beneath his jacket, making him look like a wraith in the night. _I wonder if my mist looks the same?_

The cape's head twitched up at the sound of our arrival, and he turned fully towards us, hands raised into fists. "You can come down, now." His voice was hard and cold, oddly muted somehow.

"We're not here to fight," I called back. "Just here to meet a friend." I hopped off the rooftop, Mycroft in tow, and set down in front of him. His smoke pooled around his feet, spreading out across the pier.

"That's weird," he evenly replied. "So am I." He didn't drop his fighting stance, and kept his focus on me.

"It's the same fucking person!" Lisa shouted in exasperation. I turned around in surprise at her outburst, while the cape across from us didn't budge at all. "It's been a rough night, okay? We're here to meet Regent, just like you, big guy. This isn't a spy movie where everybody's double-crossing one another." The man relaxed slightly at the name of his client.

"Regent mentioned in his e-mail that the Marche was gone. So what are you doing here?"

"Digging for information already, huh?" I let Mycroft take over the conversation. "No introductions, not even asking for embarrassing stories of our mutual friend? Chivalry really is dead," she lamented.

"Unless you're clients, I don't see the need to tell you anything," he stiffly replied. "Just here to do a job."

"Grue, buddy!" A familiar voice echoed across the water. Regent exited an alley in costume, strolling up to us without a care in the world. The man- Grue, I guessed- facepalmed, a gesture I was intimately familiar with. "You're not stiffing my friends, are you, my man?" His arms were out wide in a friendly gesture as he sauntered up to us. Arriving between Mycroft and I, he threw a hand across her back and my hip. "'Cause lemme tell you, these chicks are _mean._ Lady-Boner here wrestles tanks, and Foxy knows your internet history. Scary ladies!" Grue's head tilted to the side in confusion, something I'd built up a tolerance for in Regent's presence.

"It's true!" Mycroft chirped. "And no, supplements _don't _make it bigger." Grue's hands twitched at his side, a gesture I interpreted as wanting to choke somebody.

"I was just- _gah!"_ He took a deep breath to calm himself, and I nudged Mycroft with my tail. _Don't needle him too deeply, _I tried to communicate. "Not important. Are you backing out?" He resolved to ignore Mycroft and instead focused on Regent.

"I guess," he lazily replied. "Thought these guys were dead or gone. Guess not, so I'll stick around." He turned his head to look up at me, and I could just imagine the smarmy smile beneath his mask.

"If we'll have you," I shot back, poking his forehead. My hand tingled a little bit as I did so. _What's that about?_ "I'm in charge now," I explained. "Things might be a bit different." Grue's attention shifted to me, looking surprised.

"You're leader of the Marche? Who are you?"

"Vanguard. I'm kind of new," I replied. "The previous leader... stepped down, and left me in charge." Grue snorted a bit.

"Right... The scary plague lady who bitch-slapped Lung with the flu left a newbie in charge. There's more to it than that."

"No shit, there is," Mycroft snapped back. "But Faultline's gonna have to try harder than sending a nosy nerd to find out."

"...nerd?" Grue gestured to himself. Admittedly, that was the last word I'd apply to him- tall, at over six feet, and built like a linebacker, with clearly visible muscles beneath his leather jacket.

"Grue... like the videogame monster? _Nerd._" She definitively stated.

"I'm a fan of the classics," he shrugged. "Whatever. If the job's off, I'm out. Down payment means no refunds."

I looked down at Regent, arms crossed and hip cocked. "Mmh... yeah, we'll keep him as long as he doesn't piss on the carpet." Regent pumped his fist in victory, while Mycroft snickered.

"Don't piss on the carpet," Grue ordered. With that, he hopped smoothly into the small motorboat, and flicked the key in the ignition. "Faultline can't arrange another smuggling ship for a month. If you bail on them, you're fucked." The engine puttered to life, and his smoke poured out over the boat. All noise was cut off, and he blended totally into the pitch-black water as he sailed off.

"What a nice guy!" Regent commented as we walked away. "So, what did I miss?"

"Not much," Mycroft answered. I swatted her shoulder before seriously answering him.

"Biohazard's a Ward, I'm big and bony, Adam's a cripple, Bitch murdered Hookwolf and I told her to leave town." Regent took a moment to digest this.

"...You mentioned everybody but Mycroft. Did _nothing _happen to you?" He turned his attention to her.

"My ass is sore?" She answered.

"Maybe quit riding your girlfriend everywhere?"

"Wait, how did you know I'm her girlfriend?!" I demanded in a panic. _Please tell me we aren't that painfully obvious couple!_

"Wait, you're dating?" His honest confusion was a splash of cold water. _Well, _now_ he knows._

"Yu~p!" Lisa sang, throwing her arm around my hip. Walking like that quickly became uncomfortable, so she settled for taking my hand in hers- which still required me to stoop a bit.

"So... nothing much, then," he concluded.

"Told you so!" Lisa shot back.

"Wait, why are we walking?"

"Because I can't fit you both on my back?"

"You could carry me and Mike could ride you!"

"Not happening," I stated.

"Hey Mike, can I ride your girlfriend?" I swatted them both with my tail before Lisa could actually say yes. Regent grumbled about his sore feet for a while.

"...Take me home!" He called into the night.

"We're _going _home," I replied in confusion.

"Oh, shit," Lisa moaned.

"To the place I belong!" He shouted.

"I dunno if you _belong _there, but-"

"_Please no!" _Lisa's voice was packed with more dread than I'd heard in horror movies.

"West Virginia, mountain mama!" His voice was becoming decidedly song-like.

"We're in Massachusetts!"

"_How do you not see what's happening here?!" _Lisa beat against my side.

"Take me home, country roads!" Regent's cracking voice crooned long into the night as we trudged our way back to the Lord's Market, and a much-needed night of sleep.

* * *

Credit to Bill Danoff, Taffy Nivert and John Denver for _Take Me Home, Country Roads._


	17. Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: A Fresh Start

* * *

_Vista- two weeks ago_

"Opinions on the new hero?" Carlos broke the silence in the small elevator occupied by four of the Wards.

Word had been handed down from on high that a new hero was joining the Wards; a reformed villain, in fact. Additionally, just yesterday, Missy had overheard a rumor: Biohazard, leader of the Marche, had personally _called the PRT _to surrender. That rumor had been confirmed mere hours ago, as Piggot handed down instructions to welcome the now-ex-villain into the Wards. The words had sounded like acid in her mouth, but the Director had said them regardless.

The young gang leader had a threat level so absurdly high that the actual number was classified, and wasn't _that _a terrifying thought. As a result, the Wards knew almost nothing about her, other than 'biokinetic Striker, leader of the Marche, call an adult if you see her'. Really, Missy had fought _Hookwolf_ before. Even stitched up her own wounds in an alley later. How bad could Biohazard be in comparison? If the adults could just pull their heads out of their asses and stop seeing her as some kind of team pet, maybe they'd realize Vista was the perfect counter to any touch-based power. After all, a Striker can't hurt what they can't reach.

"She's _not_ a hero!" Sophia complained, jabbing her finger in Carlos' red-clad chest in the tiny space they shared. _You're not one, either,_ she wanted to shoot back. Sophia was nothing but a bully, used to getting her way through violence. Definitely not hero material. Still, she'd shown promise in the Wards: more captures and take-downs than most senior Protectorate heroes, despite her... behavioral issues. Missy knew the brutish girl would come through for her team, if things got dangerous. Otherwise, she'd see herself as weak, and that was one thing the younger Ward knew her senior could never allow herself to be. Regardless, she kept an impatient eye on the floor indicator above the elevator doors, eager to have more space between her and the older girl.

"She's not the first reformed villain to join the Protectorate, you know," Carlos argued, firmly but gently removing her offending finger from his chest. Always the responsible leader, always trying to see the best in every situation. Some day, he'd find a situation so bad, even he couldn't find a silver lining. That kind of optimism didn't last in this city, and she waffled between impressed and insulted that his had lasted this long in their line of work. "Biohazard has a surprisingly small rap sheet for a gang leader; no deaths, accidental or intentional, to her name. Not to mention, she was _raised _as a villain; you can't pin it all on her. Some of that responsibility is on her family. That doesn't make her a bad person."

"So the fuckers in the Empire aren't so bad if they were _born _racist?" Sophia crossed her arms, turning a challenging eye on the older boy.

"Language!" He instantly rebuked, having chastised her for it so often that it'd become automatic. "Also, jumping to Nazis as an argument is just weak."

"Pretty sure there's a law about that. Godwin's, or something like that," Chris chimed in, stroking the wispy beginnings of a teenage beard. "You invoke Nazis, you lose the argument." Sophia's face soured.

"Screw that! Neo-Nazis don't count. Totally different." After a moment of staring down at her shoes, she sighed and slumped her shoulders. "If the Bonesaw knock-off can pull her weight, and doesn't... I dunno, give anybody cancer, I can deal." Sophia's tone made it clear that she was less than happy about this, but the older cape had dealt with enough bureaucracy to know her opinion meant very little in the matter.

A buzzing alarm sounded as the elevator arrived at the Ward's loft, the red light by the door indicating their expected company was here. Vista pulled on her green-tinted visor as the others pulled on their respective helmets and masks. The door slid back to reveal the open white loft they shared, mirrored windows overlooking the Bay from their position at the top of the Protectorate's floating fortress.

A mousy-looking girl perched on the very edge of a chaise lounge occupying one corner of the carpeted gathering area, face obscured by a generic black domino mask. She wasn't too short or tall, not really skinny or fat- the kind of girl it was easy to look at once and forget about. This... this was the girl so scary that Vista wasn't even allowed to know _how scary _she was? Her eyes, though... they reminded the younger girl of her own after a particularly bad day at home. Drained, exhausted, uncaring. Haunted was a good description. Still, the ex-villain got to her feet as the Wards entered.

"Hey!" The team captain greeted her with pearly whites on full display. "I'm Aegis; glad you're here. Browbeat and Gallant will be here once they get off patrol. Clockblocker's in the building, but he's got console duty. One of the less fun jobs we do," he confided. Vista didn't need to see her face to know Shadow Stalker was rolling her eyes at his friendly persona. Aegis stepped back to gesture at each of his fellow Wards in turn. "This here's Shadow Stalker, Vista, and Kid Win. I don't suppose you're still going by Biohazard?"

"No," the girl mumbled, quiet enough that Vista resorted to warping space to help the sound carry. Her nerves were on full display, fretting at her long sleeves and twisting her foot around. If she wasn't already a truant, this was the type of girl Vista expected to be relentlessly bullied. "Got a list to choose from. New names. Less... villainous." She would have used the phrase 'edgy as hell,' but to each their own. "Think I'll go with Druid." Kid Win's eyebrows rose above his visor, as he deciphered the meaning of the name.

"You control plants, too? I thought it was just diseases!" With introductions done and the conversation apparently moving to the usual power-themed Q&A, the Wards took their preferred seats, Druid taking her previous perch. The girl's face was pinched, looking physically pained by all the attention on her.

"I control biology with a touch," she reluctantly explained. Looking like she wanted to do nothing more than sink into the plush cushion she sat on, the older girl continued under the pressure of the Wards' inquisitive gazes, keeping her eyes on the floor. "If it's organic, I can change it any way I like. As long as the mass and chemistry allow, at least." Oh, man. Forget Bonesaw-lite, that was straight up bad juju, the kind of power cape nerds wanked over in Mary Sue fics. Aegis came to the same conclusion, and drily swallowed.

"...What did they rate you, again?" He sounded like he really didn't want to know the answer. Druid scratched her neck before answering.

"Striker... 12, I think?" _Holy shit._ Vista had been one of the highest ranked Wards on the East Coast as a Shaker 9. Anything above a 10 was in a league of its own, and 12+ was the kind of number associated with the Triumvirate and Endbringers. A stream of questions poured out of Vista's mouth.

"Can you make people Brutes? Can you heal? What about zombies? Can you grow boobs?" She leaned forward interestedly, while Kid Win buried his face in his hands.

"...yes?" Druid hesitantly replied. "I haven't really thought about everything I _could _do. Diseases are easy. So are plants. But... changing people is messy. It's easy to forget what went where if you ever change your mind." She clearly wasn't comfortable with this line of conversation, and Aegis noticed.

"We'll be glad to take whatever you can offer," he smiled warmly. "I can think of a lot of uses for plant control. Every bit out there helps." Somehow, that pushed Druid even further into retreat.

"If I'm allowed out," she replied, a note of resentment in her voice. "The Director wants me on permanent healing duty." A moment of silence followed, as the Wards tried to process the sheer _stupidity _of that decision. It was widely accepted that Piggot despised capes, but to intentionally hamstring the Wards by restricting such a powerful cape?

"Right," Aegis coughed. "Well... that's still very useful! I know I'd appreciate-"

"This is _bullshit_!" Shadow Stalker exploded out of her seat, gesticulating wildly. "You're a fucking _villain._ These sheltered babies might not know the kind of shit you've done out there, but _me?_ _I _was on the streets when you joined the Marche. Don't think acting like a weak little girl will make us go easy on you!" Druid hunched in on herself, not daring to meet anybody's eyes, which Vista knew from experience would only piss the older Ward off more.

"I'm not a villain," she softly replied. "Not any more."

"What, you think you can just _walk in here_ and act all innocent?! You're not fucking _forgiven_, bitch. Where's your punishment, huh?" Shadow Stalker snarled, looking a moment away from violence.

"Shadow Stalker, _sit down._" Aegis' tone was barely restrained, angrier than Vista had heard in a long time. If she had to guess, he was under a lot of pressure from above to make sure this went smoothly, and Shadow Stalker was making that very difficult.

"No. I want to hear what she has to say for herself! Huh, 'Druid'? Did too many of your whores get old and wrinkly? Is that why you're here? You didn't sell enough drugs to kids, and the Cartel's after you?" The room fell silent at Shadow Stalker's accusations, and attention was focused on Druid. Despite himself, even Aegis seemed interested at how she'd respond. The girl took a deep breath, seeming to gather herself, but after a beat, didn't respond. "See?" Shadow Stalker leaned in, sneering behind her mask if Vista knew her at all. "She's just a-"

"Yesterday," Druid interrupted, raising her head and staring balefully up at her aggressor from behind her knees. "Lung attacked me." Her limbs unfolded, and she leaned back, looking relaxed for once. Still, her eyes were hard, and Vista was reminded that this girl wasn't some fresh trigger press-ganged into the Wards after a bad night. This was Biohazard, a hardcore Villain with two years of experience, and she'd stood equal with Marquis once. Even Shadow Stalker fell silent as she continued. "I thought I could take him. I had before. But he was smart. He attacked my insecurities, a lot like you're trying to do. He was better at it than you, too." Druid idly ran a finger along the cotton upholstery of the lounge chair, and tiny vines grew from the dead material in her wake. "I couldn't do a damn thing, then. He burned her alive, right in front of me. My sister."

Vista gulped, picturing it in her mind. The anonymous sister was replaced by her dear Gallant, and she envisioned him blackening, armor melting away under the heat as he curled up like a victim of Pompeii. "_My_ choices led to that. She almost died because of _me_. I never... I _never _wanted this for her, for _us._ Being a villain was _fun,_ at first. It was what my dad wanted for me, what _made sense_. It's not fun any more," a deep note of bitter irony filled her voice, "and Dad's not here to want anything. _Nothing _makes sense now. I had to get away from it- the responsibility, the aimlessness, the _failures _of it all. Being a hero is a fresh start for me. I'd really prefer you not ruin it." She unhurriedly rose to her feet, the room deathly quiet aside from the shifting fabric of her movements. Shadow Stalker grew tense as Druid approached her, black mist flickering into existence around her as she debated between looking strong and standing her ground or avoiding Druid's touch by turning to mist.

"Don't think I-" she started, before being interrupted by Druid's hand falling softly on her wrist, covering the tiny gap of skin between glove and sleeve.

"When I led the Marche," she idly commented, in a tone fit for dinner conversation, "And I had an... unruly follower, I'd threaten them with body modification." Shadow Stalker tensed, clearly looking for a way out of this without 'losing'. "You remind me of a teammate of mine. We called her Bitch. I have to wonder... is it possible for you to be a bigger bitch? Maybe with six tits and a tail. Or I could cover your mouth with skin. After all, if you don't have anything nice to say, _don't say anything at all._ Have you ever had anything nice to say? Maybe just... _remove your brain entirely?_ You clearly don't use it, much. I could keep your heart beating, lungs pumping without it. I can picture it so easily. Your mother wiping drool off her braindead daughter's chin. Would you like that, Shadow Stalker?" Vista rocked back in stunned silence at the sheer ease with which Druid issued the threat, like it would be no more trouble for her than trimming her nails. She understood, then, _exactly_ why Biohazard was so highly classified. Humans, to her, were playthings, clay to be shaped by her will. If she fought seriously, there were fates much worse than death in store for her enemies. She swore a whimper came from Shadow Stalker's lips, who slapped Druid's hand away.

"Sh-shut up! You wouldn't... You don't..." The weak reply was followed by the fearless Ward actually _backing down_, as she turned tail and half-ran out of the room. Kid Win's eyes boggled behind his visor as Aegis drily swallowed, clearly debating between whether to chastise Druid for the excessive threat or Shadow Stalker for asking for it.

"I'm going to say this _once_," Druid continued in the ensuing silence. "I _want _to be here. I _want _to be a hero. If you'll have me, I'll fight tooth and nail for every last one of you, like you're my own brother or sister. And I'll try to be a good person, I really will. So please just... let me leave it behind. I'd really like to be friends with you all, some day," she finished, with a shy smile.

The silence was broken by a loud buzzing, the Wards jumping at the noise. The elevator dinged open, and out stepped Clockblocker, Gallant and Browbeat. "Sheesh, who died?" Clockblocker's irreverence finally broke the tension, and Druid let out a small, girlish giggle.

* * *

_Amy- one week ago_

"So, who's next?" I tried to disguise the exhaustion in my voice as my previous patient was wheeled out of the room, but apparently not very well. The nurse accompanying me- Jessica, I think her name was- wore a knowing smirk as she replied.

"That's it for today, kid. Two hundred cases in four hours! Any longer and we'll run out of patients! I think you've earned a break." A knock sounded at the door, and I sighed gratefully at the sound. "And there's your ride. We'll see you again tomorrow, Druid!" Jessica smiled and waved goodbye, and I allowed myself to finally relax as I left the operating room. Miss Militia stood outside, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she saw me.

"You look dead on your feet," she wryly observed. "Maybe book an appointment with that new parahuman healer? Hear she works _wonders_."

"Har-har," I replied, rolling my eyes. "Powers are supposed to make this _easy._ But healing just takes so much _focus_, it's... well, exhausting."

For a week now, I'd done this every day. When I called the PRT and offered my surrender, the Director had been leery. I'd begged, for the first time I could remember. Said I'd do _anything._ Offered to work in a hospital, to serve soup to the homeless. If only they could save Taylor. At first, Piggot demanded I disband the Marche, surrender the identities of all my chief lieutenants, turn over any ill-gotten resources, and serve time in prison- preferably in solitary confinement. I made the counter-offer to join the Wards, help protect the city I'd previously tried to control. She refused, initially, but somehow word reached her higher-ups. The Chief Director, Rebecca Costa-Brown herself, stepped in, and I had no idea why. Piggot had no choice but to obey, and it was made official: I'd join the Wards and return to being a law-abiding citizen. Plans were hashed out: enrollment in Arcadia High, temporary housing on the Rig, even... adoption, eventually. I wasn't looking forward to that part.

The chance for a fresh start. That's what I'd gotten. After Dad's death, I'd felt... trapped. I had no plans for my future; I don't think he did, either. College was a nebulous concept, years away, and anything beyond that was a mere hypothetical. Being a villain was all I knew. Following in Dad's footsteps. The only real plan was for us to stay together as a family. Taylor would eventually Trigger and join the Marche, and we'd carve our own little kingdom out of Brockton Bay, free of the influence of the hardcore gangs. But... all that went away with Dad. He died, and I was left without a guiding hand. So I tried to do what he would. I stepped up, tried to be a leader. Taylor and I dropped out of school, moved into a run-down apartment under Dad's name.

After that... it was one mistake after another. The Marche lost its figurehead, the man holding it all together, and I just wasn't good enough to really replace him. I picked stupid fights with nothing to gain, fighting to stay relevant. I tried to convince myself that early successes meant long-term victory. At the same time, the regular people that made up the Marche were hurting. All the tiny details that it took to run a gang, that Dad had so expertly managed, I'd ignored in favor of playing cops and robbers. While I was focused on out-maneuvering Kaiser, businesses were shutting down across my territory. Dad never taught me management, never groomed me for leadership. Never planned for his own death.

Looking back, what I regretted most was Taylor. She'd _needed _me, after her Trigger. I neglected her in favor of the Marche. I barely noticed as she slipped away from me, lost more and more of who she used to be until one day, I woke up to a different person in our house. Still, she clung to me, based _everything she did_ on me. Just like I did with Dad, I supposed. I should've known better. Should've known it was impossible to push her away, but damned if I didn't try anyways. When it came to a head, and we fought that morning... she seemed so _alien._ Cold, until she wasn't. Reasonable, until she was furious. Distant, until I was sobbing into her chest. I remembered the sister I grew up with: the first to smile, first to cry, first to throw a punch. Now... she was like a storm. Calm, aloof, until thunder struck. How much different would she be when she woke up again?

"Nothing worth doing is ever easy," Miss Militia sagely replied, closing her eyes and bowing her head. "I know you're smart enough to realize that, Druid. But _understanding _it takes time." She offered me a bottle of water, and I gratefully accepted the still-cold beverage.

"Maybe I just like complaining?" I hesitated with the bottle before realizing my plague-doctor mask was forever gone, replaced by a black domino mask. The PR department thought it would be 'so cool' if I grew my own costume, and that's exactly what I'd done. Then they'd burned the resulting leather-and-wood bodysuit, and the woman running the Brockton Bay PR Division had called my masterpiece 'disturbingly un-family-friendly'. More specifically, she'd called it 'the unholy, stripperific lovechild of a tree fetishist and dominatrix'. I'd heard she was reprimanded for the comment, and felt deeply vindicated by that fact, but I was still made to grow a new one: a boring green dress, with a knee-length skirt covered in climbing ivy, high gloves and stockings in white, flats decorated with flowering moss, and a large, red and white flower growing over my sternum in a medical cross pattern. Originally, the design team had asked for an absurdly high neckline and poofy shoulders, but I'd threatened to decompose the whole thing on camera for my debut, and they'd quietly acquiesced to my demands of slightly less Disney princess in my costume. I wasn't allowed to wear it until my official debut later in the month, however. For now, I was essentially in civilian clothes and a mask.

Miss Militia chuckled throatily at my comment before replying. "If you want something to complain about, how's this? You start school next week!" I groaned loudly as we walked down the hall, drawing a few chuckles from passing doctors and nurses. As we made our way to the stairwell, my eye was drawn down the hall, and I slowed to a stop. "Do you want to visit?" My chaperone asked quietly, brows knitting together. "We have half an hour."

"I don't think..." I started, before she'd taken my arm and half-tugged me down the hall.

"You can't keep avoiding her, Druid. Goodness' sake, she's asleep, not dead!" A small knot of worry formed in my chest, and at the slightest hint of resistance in my steps, Miss Militia stopped, looking both ways down the hall before tugging me into an unoccupied room. She checked for cameras, locked the door, and tugged down her bandana. Her full lips were pressed together in a matronly pout, and I braced myself for the emotional blackmail I knew was coming. "I know you blame yourself for what happened, Amy. But do you really think _she _does? Vanguard's family- the _only _family you have. She's going to wake up scared, confused and worried. From what you've told me about her, the first thing she's going to want to do is see you. And if I know _you_, you're going to clam up. Maybe now's the best time to get some things off your chest?" I sighed, too tired to really argue this through. Part of me was angry at her for forcing this, but a much more reasonable part of me acknowledged her point.

"...fine, I'll talk to her. Then can we go?" She smiled brightly at me, so much prettier without her mask, before replacing the flag-patterned bandana over her face and opening the door. We walked down the hall a little ways further before arriving outside the room I knew Taylor occupied. Miss Militia quietly knocked on the door, and a thin, balding old man with owlish brown eyes and a stoop in his back answered the door.

"Doctor Meyer, would you allow Druid here to examine your patient in private?" The elderly doctor knew full well that we were family, but for the sake of appearances and privacy, a polite fiction was concocted to excuse any private visits. The doctor smiled good-naturedly and nodded, opening the door wider.

"Of course, of course! I'd value such an expert opinion. Please, take all the time you need." He patted me on the shoulder as I entered the room, and stepped out to converse with Miss Militia.

My gaze was drawn to the giant lump in the reinforced bed, surrounded by a thin mist. _Scion, she's changed this much?_ Taylor was easily seven feet from head to toe, and thin segments of some pale material poked through the blackened patches of her skin. Shaggy white hair poured like liquid from her scalp, and her eyelids glowed blue from within. She'd been intubated, several machines surrounding her with tubing leading into her body, filling her with precious nutrients. Goosebumps raised on my neck as I stepped closer, taking a stool by her bedside and placing my hand on her arm.

My power gave me the ability to sense biology at a touch, to feel out each and every cell in an organism, down to the individual nucleobases that composed DNA. It existed alongside any other sense, not really distracting in any way unless I concentrated on it. At any moment, I was conscious of every last bacterial colony in contact with me, whether on the surface of my teeth or the palm of my hand. When Taylor first began changing, I'd noticed certain areas of her anatomy felt... fuzzy, like I was wearing corrective lenses of the wrong prescription. As her power took a deeper hold of her body, that feeling grew stronger, up until I'd get migraines just trying to focus on her. Now... it was like reading a classified document, where almost every line was blacked out. There was so _little _of her to feel. I was reminded of standing on the Bay, waves coming in and pulling the sand out from under my feet. Just like that, I was losing my sister, grain by grain. "Oh, Taylor..." If anybody else had heard me whimper in that moment, I'd have filled their ears with stomach acids. _At least, that's what Biohazard would do. That's... not me, any more._

I was reduced, for the first time in two years, to actually using my eyes to see her. I felt blinded, and was terrified of losing that intimate knowledge I had of her. Where others knew their loved ones by smell, sound or tiny little details, I knew Taylor better than anybody ever could. I knew the tiny mutations in her DNA, what made her absolutely unique compared to every other human on the planet. Sure, she had a 0.5% higher chance of early-onset arthritis than average, but to me, that tiny genetic marker was as cute as dimples on a baby. That was... gone, now, forever. I could feel a head, a tail, two arms, and two legs... and nothing else. Her chest rose and fell, so very slowly that when I tried to hold my breath to match it, I grew lightheaded. A tear gathered on the tip of my nose, dangling there before I wiped it off. Her veins glowed blue beneath her skin, and tiny arcs of energy danced between them. I ached to know what that felt like on a cellular level. I wasn't here just to examine her, though.

"Sorry," I started, "for not, uh, seeing you sooner. You kind of look like burnt toast." My laugh felt forced and inappropriate, and I quickly shut up in the oppressive silence of the room, broken only by a slow _beep... beep_... of monitoring machines. "There's... a lot, to catch you up on. I'm a hero, now. It was a lot of bargaining and paperwork to get the Director to accept me, but I somehow managed to convince her I really want this. I still don't think she wants me on the Wards, but, well... I'm useful, here. I'm doing good, and even if it's tiring... Scion, the weight off my shoulders! You know I'm not leadership material. You've always been the one to rally to a cause. When you wake up... I'm doing it. I'm making you leader, officially. I bet you'll be scared, and that's okay. I was too, at first. Still was, in the end, now that I think about it. But you'll be better than I was." What else was I supposed to say? This was so _difficult_, without Taylor there to talk back, to _yell_ and _scream_ at me for being stupid. Not that Taylor would ever do that, but it'd serve me right. I'd ran away... given up. She never would.

I looked out the window, at the cityscape below. Taylor's room was on the third floor of Brockton Bay Memorial, and it was a shame she wasn't awake to appreciate the view with me. Glittering waves were just barely visible between high-rises and wide streets, reflecting blindingly off countless glass windows. The sky was absolutely cloudless, and seagulls crowed as they circled above. A perfect spring day. Less than two months ago, Dad would've driven us to the beach on a day like this. Taylor and I would tan on the sand, and he'd work a tiny sliver of bone beneath us to poke our backs _just _as we were falling asleep. We'd yelp and jump up, pointing accusing fingers at him, and he'd just smile and shrug, asking how he could poke us from _all the way over there_. I'd get back at him by turning some of his hairs gray in his sleep, then try and convince him he was getting old in the morning. And Taylor... Taylor would smile and laugh through it all, as a gangly beanpole waiting to come into her own. It hit me, then: Dad was _gone._ Forever. I'd never, ever see his smile again. He'd never make another grandiose speech, clad in armor of bone amidst cheering cityfolk. He'd never make strawberry pancakes in the morning, never scold Taylor for acting out, never tell another bad joke ever again. My lips twisted between a smile over fond memories and an ugly, sobbing pout as I finally broke down and cried into Taylor's lap. Loud, heaving sobs, the kind where snot was probably dripping out of my nose. Scion, but I was a mess.

* * *

_Armsmaster_

The Rig was a bustle of activity at this time of night, shifting from daytime PR activities to crime prevention and emergency response duties that occupied the late hours of Brockton Bay. Friendly, young, energetic faces clocked out for the day, as the more somber night crew came on, clutching mugs of coffee or tea. Colin nursed his own steaming cup as he reviewed his HUD-displayed schedule. Four minutes left in pre-shift preparation, then Ward interviews. A huge two-hour time sink, he'd requested multiple times for the assessments to be made more brief, or handed off entirely to Miss Militia, but administration was adamant that he spend two hours every other week 'building rapport and touching base' with his youthful charges. After that, he had time blocked off for reviewing local threats and planning countermeasures. Then, he'd have the rest of the night for Tinkering. Several promising projects called his attention: from the nano-thorn emitters- a collaborative project with Dragon that he suspected could threaten even Endbringers- to the predictive combat software, or simply tuning his armor and halberd, he had a full night ahead of him- up until Dragon inevitably forced sleep upon him, at least.

He finished off his coffee, and headed for the interview rooms, bracing for a mentally draining social interaction period. With _children_.

"Aegis," he greeted with a nod, noting the boy had maintained a habit of arriving at least three minutes early to every meeting.

"Sir," the boy replied, looking vaguely consternated. Armsmaster prided himself on picking up that social cue, and followed through beautifully.

"You're consternated. What happened?"

"I'm... what? No, nevermind. Uh, Sophia, she-"

"Shadow Stalker, please. For the internal record." He tapped the small microphone on the table.

"Right, Shadow Stalker, she-"

"Can you cite the date, time and location of any incidents, please? Has she violated her parole?" He'd be damned if he had to do additional paperwork because his Wards couldn't follow a simple format.

"Well, no, she hasn't, but she-"

"Date, time and location, please. Has she threatened to do so, or made any other threats on yourself or others?"

"Uh, no, at least I don't _think _so, but she-"

"Date, time and location," he growled out.

"What time is it right now?"

"March the fifth, twenty one hundred hours?"

"Right, that, then. Shadow Stalker _really _doesn't get along with Druid."

"Name pending until official confirmation. Shadow Stalker reportedly doesn't get along with _anybody_. Is this a problem?" He crossed his arms, leaning in. Aegis scratched at his neck, looking deeply uncomfortable.

"Well... that's true, I guess. Still, I'm not..."

"Is there an urgent concern regarding Shadow Stalker or Druid- name pending- or their respective paroles?" He fought back a sigh at all the wasted time.

"Well... not urgent, no," the boy admitted. An especially sensitive microphone may have picked up on a puff of air released from Armsmaster's lips. This line of conversation was clearly not fulfilling his goals of 'building rapport,' so switching tracks was recommended. His social suite gave a list of popular topics among teenagers, and he selected 'peer relationships' from the drop-down menu.

"Are you engaged in any romantic and/or sexual endeavors at the present?" His social suite blared warnings at him, but he shut them off with alternating twitches of his eyelids. Damned faulty coding.

"_What?! _I, uh, no!" Even without the red light from his lie detection software, that kind of high-pitched denial was a dead giveaway. Armsmaster had Aegis' medical file pulled up in his periphery, and was well aware that the boy was post-pubescent, so that excuse was out.

"That's a lie..." He steepled his fingers and activated the Penance function of his helmet, a baleful red light filling the outer display as the voice modulator came to life. "_**Explain.**_"

* * *

"Right, so... a whole fifteen minutes?"

"Yes, these interviews last fifteen minutes each. Do you have any present concerns regarding your employment with the Protectorate as a Ward?"

"Not _really_, but... _fifteen minutes?_ What do we even _talk about _for fifteen minutes?" Clockblocker leaned back, arms behind his head and feet on the table. Armsmaster made a note to sanitize the surface later.

"Anything," he replied. "Within reason," he hastily amended as Clockblocker raised a finger. "Talk of treason or sedition against the United States, the Parahuman Response teams, or humanity at large will be reported. Should you confess intent to commit a crime, it will be reported. Should you confess intent to commit suicide, you will be transferred to a therapist."

"So, you're saying I _absolutely should not_ say anything about plans to assassinate the forty-fourth president of the United States?"

"That... is a correct assessment. Are you planning on doing so?"

"Of course not! Now, what about replacing the flag on top of the Rig with Piggot's underwear?"

"That would be theft, and... technically sedition. Are you planning on doing so?"

"Nah, that'd be silly. So how about..." Fourteen more minutes passed in this minute, and Armsmaster wirelessly scheduled an appointment with his dentist to treat a stress fracture by the end of it.

* * *

Kid Win entered the room, took one look at the chair time-frozen on the ceiling, and remained standing.

"Please, take a seat," Armsmaster offered.

"Uh, sir... Chair's on the ceiling."

"Hm. So it is." He nodded, having reached the same assessment. "As a fellow Tinker, this time is reserved for you to express any ideas you may be working on, in addition to any questions, comments, or concerns you have regarding your employment as a Ward."

"Right!" Kid Win smiled brightly, nervously fidgeting with his fingers. "So I had this idea- an Alternator Cannon, I'm calling it- variable modes of fire, using various forms of energy-" Finally, an actually productive conversation!

"What kinds of energy forms are we talking about, here?"

"Well, sir, that's just it! It can switch between just about anything on the electromagnetic spectrum, alongside gravity. Light, microwaves, electricity, you name it!"

"Do you have a blueprint?" He leaned forward interestedly. A weapon like that sounded supremely useful. Able to change characteristics on the fly to adapt to exotic energy defenses... He might install something similar on his bike, in the future.

"Well... no, not yet." Kid Win's smile faded, transitioning into nervous lip-chewing.

"Any... documentation? A proof of concept?"

"Uh... no? I was thinking of repurposing a few old projects into it, seeing what fits, you know?" Colin fought to keep the disappointment off his face. This, right here, was Kid Win's problem. He'd get halfway through a project, scrap it, then desperately try to incorporate the junk into some harebrained 'cool idea'.

"Right... well. If anything comes of it, let me know." The disappointment must've slipped through somehow, as Kid Win's face fell into dejected resignation.

"...yeah. Mind if I leave early, get to work on it?"

"Please feel free," he replied politely. Kid Win trudged out of the room, and Armsmaster pulled out a stack of paperwork to occupy the remaining fourteen minutes.

The interviews continued as per usual. Browbeat showed surprising insight into the conflicts and relationships between his teammates, all the while avoiding integration with the Wards. Vista proposed a plan of action to capture Rune, Krieg and Victor; and while tactically sound, it placed her and her fellow Wards in an unacceptable amount of danger. Gallant was _still _traumatized by his negative interaction with Vanguard, convinced the girl was some kind of alien monster. Armsmaster made a note in the boy's file that he relied far too heavily on his power for social interaction, and recommended therapy. Shadow Stalker once again didn't show up, though there was little he could do about it. These meetings were mandatory for _him_ to attend, not the Wards.

Finally, the last scheduled interview commenced as the newest Ward entered the room.

"Good evening, miss Lavere," he opened. The quiet girl gave a perfunctory nod before perching on the very edge of her seat- an odd habit he'd noticed, resulting in stiff posture as she folded her hands over her lap and crossed her legs politely. It resulted in her looking severe and unapproachable, according to his social suite. She was, however, working on breaking that habit, as she then relaxed noticeably, slouching back in the chair.

"Evening, Armsmaster," she replied, smiling briefly. "Kinda feel like I'm being called into the Principal's office." Skittish around figures of authority? A plausible assumption, for an ex-villain.

"This is not a disciplinary meeting," he answered, trying to sound reassuring. His tonal feedback gave him a passable score on the attempt. "Merely an opportunity for you to express any comments or concerns on your employment as a Ward, or build a lasting connection with your supervising hero as a fellow agent of the law." He was quite proud of following that script so perfectly. It had taken him hours of practice to get the delivery down _just _right. The young girl snorted.

"Do you have that written on a Post-It note inside your visor?" Her friendly smile indicated the barbed words were to be taken as an inoffensive joke. Still, the senseless cruelty of teenagers bit deep. "Sorry, sorry. Rude. Um... so I can really talk about whatever I like, then?" Oh, no. He'd learned his lesson.

"_Within reason,"_ he snapped. "No plots against the Government, the PRT, humanity at large, or the Director's undergarments. Hypothetical or otherwise." Amelia's eyes went wide.

"Hypothetical plot against... the Director's..? Is that a thing that happens?" He sighed, realizing he'd missed the mark.

"Clockblocker," he answered, and she laughed lightly. It was the carefree sound of youth, and reminded him of his early years in the Protectorate. Mouse Protector, in particular, had never lost that laugh, even as an adult.

"Of course. But, ah, no. I had something more personal I'd like to talk about." Shit. This was absolutely not on his script, nor had he prepared for any deeply emotional conversations. He fingered the panic button beneath the table, that would summon Miss Militia and her invaluable social skills. Still, he held off unless the situation became truly dire.

"Okay," he answered stiffly. "What is it?"

"Earlier today," she started. "You let T- Vanguard go. You know she's a villain, right? So, why?" He hummed and shifted his legs, thinking up a satisfactory answer.

"Vanguard... is not technically a villain. Not _yet,_ at least. Association with villains is not in and of itself cause for detainment, not unless she's a known accessory to a crime." Amelia's lips pressed together in a thoughtful frown as she laid her chin in her hand.

"Yeah, and that makes sense and all, but... Well, there's more to it, isn't there?" Armsmaster carefully regulated his facial expression as he replied.

"I'm not sure what you mean." He ignored the red light of his lie detector. "Explain, please." She tapped a finger thoughtfully against her lips.

"Well... At first, Director Piggot refused my offer to join the Wards. Then the Chief Director stepped in, and I can't help but wonder _why_. I have a great power and all, but is it worth her trouble? Maybe," she admitted. Armsmaster actually hadn't heard that detail, and subtly made a note of such in his own digital records.

"Go on..."

"I think," she hesitantly began, "you _did _have enough cause to detain Vanguard. She's a truant, a runaway, and if not a villain then a vigilante cape. So why didn't you?" It was a rhetorical question, and she was clearly thinking aloud as she went on. "I think it has to do with the Chief Director. Piggot probably wanted Vanguard detained, didn't she?" Amelia carefully examined his face for an answer, though his stony expression held.

"But her superior stepped in, just like with me. I'd be willing to bet that the Chief Director knows about Vanguard's power. There's no way the leader of the PRT wouldn't be informed of a potential threat like her. And I know the PRT _really_ doesn't like capes it can't control. So why was I accepted as a Ward? Because by controlling me, the PRT has some influence over Vanguard. The PRT controls what city I'm in, what school I go to... your lawyers even have final say in what family adopts me." She smirked proudly, having arrived at her answer. "You let Vanguard go because you didn't think you _could_ stop her. Not permanently, not without just killing her. But that would be a waste of a powerful tool. A tool the Chief Director wants very badly. Dauntless is the Protectorate's big gun, right now, or will be eventually. But Vanguard will be stronger than him- stronger than _anybody_. I'm your insurance policy, aren't I?"

"That's a very interesting theory," he replied. In truth, he _had _received pressure from above to allow the girl to go free. While Director Piggot would have liked to detain Vanguard, and did in fact have legal cause to do so... containment of an Infinite wasn't sustainable. Long-term projections showed that even the Birdcage couldn't permanently hold a cape like Dauntless. Eventually, he'd either grow too powerful to hold, or the inmates would kill him- in which case, Glaistig Uaine would have access to a Triumvirate-tier power that grew over time, in the form of an immortal ghost. Both unacceptable outcomes if the goal was containment and neutralization. That was the official reason he'd been given for the Chief Director's decision, at least. "One that relies very heavily on the significance of yourself and Vanguard. A sign of narcissism and megalomania- both villainous personality traits." He'd hoped to divert her train of thought with the reminder of her past, but she simply held her small smile.

"Am I wrong?" He allowed the ghost of a smile to cross his face. Despite himself, he couldn't help but approve of a young mind giving its all to solving a problem. He didn't have all the answers, himself, but Amelia's conclusion was likely. Something big was happening in the higher ranks, something focused on this young woman and her sister. A shark was circling Brockton Bay, and it smelled damn fishy. Perhaps it really was as simple as wanting to have some control over a dangerous cape- he doubted it. The Protectorate had dealt with dangerous capes before- without compromising the law to do so.

Rather than giving a straight answer, he said the one line every government official dreamed of saying one day. "I can neither confirm nor deny any such conspiracies," he replied, fighting to keep a straight face. It was a paper-thin denial, as close to approval as he was allowed to give on record.

"Of course not. It was a pleasure, Armsmaster." A knowing smile, a gleam in her eye. He stood to shake her hand as the young Ward left.

* * *

Threat assessment and counter-planning was always a pleasure for Colin. Being faced with a puzzle and devising the _perfect, _most efficient solution for it was... relaxing wasn't quite right, but certainly rewarding. When that puzzle was a violent criminal and the solution was justice? Even better. Not every threat was as obvious as, say, Hookwolf, however. The violent Empire enforcer was a clear and present danger; simple, in a way. Hookwolf wasn't really a threat to Armsmaster in the long run, though. He could be removed from the playing board with the correct application of force. The real threat was what would happen afterwards.

Capturing a villain was never as clean-cut as the Saturday morning cartoons made it look. Ideally, the bad guy was locked away, nefarious plot foiled in the nick of time. In reality... the modern day justice system in regards to capes was a joke. There was simply no way to contain the sheer variety of powers out there. Even the Birdcage wasn't perfect. Glaistig Uaine, as far as anybody knew, could leave any time she liked. There was absolutely nothing stopping the insane girl from appearing right behind Colin at that very moment and killing him.

That wasn't even considering the matter of Endbringer fights. It was a well-established fact that low attendance from parahumans resulted in far greater destruction from the living calamities. So, when given the choice between throwing a villain in a prison they'd escape within a week and saving that villain for an Endbringer fight... well, as much as it pained him to admit, the math was easy. All too often, a powerful villain like Lung was left free so long as they weren't _too _bad. Go too far, join the Slaughterhouse 9 or murder a hero, and it was game over. But play by the rules, and it was a different story.

Tonight, he was faced with an especially convoluted puzzle. Vanguard. It seemed like her name was everywhere recently. The Chief Director had personally stepped in to meddle in the girl's affairs, recruiting her sister and preventing her capture. The investigation into Carol Dallon, responsible for the murder of her father. The investigation into Daniel Hebert, responsible for ordering the hit. Both missing, nowhere to be found. Kaiser was up in arms over the string of defeats handed to the Empire, and would blame Vanguard now that Biohazard had 'disappeared'. Lung had seen fit to personally attack the girls. It seemed anybody who was anybody had _some _kind of connection to the young Infinite.

He reviewed the girl's file, what little information it contained. Low-ranking Brute/Mover, affiliated with the Marche... that would need significant updating. He opened a text editor and set to doing just that.

"High-end Infinite," he muttered to himself. "Changer focus, Brute/Mover subclass. Physical capabilities rapidly increase over time. Growth of entirely new powers is possible." He'd noticed the mist rolling off the girl, as well as the strange area-of-effect attack she'd unleashed in her hospital room. The mist would technically count as a Stranger power in high enough concentration to disrupt visibility. Her medical examination had turned up a cocktail of chemicals secreted from the barbs on her tail, qualifying for a Striker rating. Additionally, Gallant and Amelia had mutually established some manner of anti-Thinker effect, rendering her immune to multiple forms of scanning. In the end, he was left with a description that raised more questions than it answered. "Infinite 9, Changer 5, Brute/Mover 4, Striker 2, Blaster 2, Stranger 1, Thinker 1. Update frequently. God, what a mess." All she needed was a Tinker, Master, Trump and Breaker rating.

Under her physical description, he faced a similar problem. Anything he wrote would become inaccurate within a matter of weeks. She no longer had a costume to refer to, either. "Large, armored, predominantly white color, blue accents," he hesitantly added. That, at least, seemed accurate enough, if not necessarily very descriptive. Under personal effects, the only thing worth adding was the watch she'd worn upon admittance to Brockton General. The Tinker-tech device had been deeply fascinating, a rare example of cooperation between Tinkers of wildly differing specializations: Blasto and Gizmo. The bio-electric interface was clearly Blasto's work, while the rest...

Gizmo's work was known to Armsmaster for one trait above all others: showing off. The rogue Tinker never made anything twice, despite his vast array of technology. Whenever a feature was repeated in his work, it was from a completely different angle: a simple cupholder could be implemented via gravitic stabilizers, magnetic harmonizers, quantum resonators... Over-engineered to hell and back, was an apt description. His work was a call for attention, a shout to the sky claiming _Look what I can do!_ The needlessly complex watch was so offensive to Armsmaster that he'd felt compelled to take it apart and streamline the damn thing. He'd been tempted to bug the watch, get an insider report on Vanguard's evolving anatomy, but Dragon had commented that such would be a massive invasion of privacy on a developing young woman.

Back to Vanguard's file, he ruminated over counter-measures. Unfortunately, Amelia had been quite accurate: short of murder, there was absolutely no way to permanently contain an Infinite of her caliber. Her growth was too unpredictable, too varied to counter. If she was put in the Birdcage, she'd either escape stronger than ever and with a massive grudge, or die, giving Glaistig Uaine access to potentially endless power. Neither was an acceptable outcome. The Protectorate didn't have access to any human Master capable of controlling her, as such capes were nearly always villains, and the option would never be seriously considered even if it _was _possible. Shunting her into another dimension via Tinkertech might work, but... what if it didn't, and she evolved the ability to hop across dimensions? He was stymied, and hated the feeling.

In terms of combat, however, Vanguard was not an unbeatable juggernaut. As far as testing had shown, absolutely _nothing _could resist Clockblocker's power. It was, as the scientists had termed it, an inviolable power. Debate raged on what exactly would happen if the Ward's power interacted with a similarly inviolable power, say, an unstoppable projectile, but testing on that had never and would never be allowed. Nobody needed a repeat of Professor Haywire's dimensional breach. Still, against Vanguard, all evidence indicated that she could be frozen in time, then surrounded by con-foam grenades. She'd been beaten by brute force before, as well, and could be again, though that prospect grew more difficult every day.

He couldn't just recommend that a government task force resort to punching a young woman in the face really hard repeatedly, though. That was unprofessional, and messy. "Treat as neutral in the field unless threatened," he began. "If engaged, focus on gathering information, and maintain an exit strategy at all times. Deny any territorial advantage; preferred environment for engagement is confined spaces with layered defenses and clear line of sight. Fight indirectly by denial of objective when possible." If Vanguard was after a specific goal, he reasoned, that would make fighting her much simpler. Simply move the goal post. With the young cape's narrow-minded focus, it would be too easy to lead her on a wild goose chase, until she could be out-maneuvered and beaten.

He submitted his assessment, glad to move on to more important things. _Tinkering_. Recently, he'd acquired some very interesting materials to work with that could greatly expand his arsenal. Displaying incredible conductivity, resilience, edge retention... the stuff was a Tinker's dream. Not to mention the more interesting properties: the material was self-repairing, self-duplicating, and continued to grow hardier over time. It had practically fallen into his lap, and he jealously guarded his supply, lest the Tinker review board remove it before he got a chance to work with it. Not the healthiest behavior, he realized, but this substance was a miracle.

He slid out of the computer chair, jacking out of his power armor's framework. As the metal armor parted around him, he stepped out of it, eager to get to work. The materials were kept in a locked safe, keyed to his voice, necessitating a thumb print, spoken password, tonal inflection, and geometric pattern pass-code to open. "Rhongomyniad," he muttered, tracing out a fractal pattern. The safe clicked open, a vacuum chamber sliding out smoothly. Within was a single kilogram of off-white, living bone, formed in a disc, still growing outward. The things he'd be able to build...

Inspiration had arrived like a fever dream soon after harvesting the material. It was all above-board, of course. Amelia had given permission to run examinations on her sister to determine the best path forward in her care. Part of that was a routine biopsy, and he'd asked to keep the samples. Purely as a matter of research. It, like nothing else, _called _to him. He had to hide it, though. Couldn't let them think he was Mastered. All the _good _he could do with this! They couldn't stop it. Couldn't stop him.

The key was the blood, he was sure of it. A tiny vial of the glowing blue liquid rested on top of the disc, harvested freshly this morning. He needed to... to sample it. Test it. Examine it. Only then could he _learn_. It needed to be drank. Hastily, he decompressed the chamber and snatched the vial out. Removing the stopper, he raised it to his lips. A brief pause, an attack of conscience as he wondered _why_. Was this really necessary? He scowled. "Of course it is," he chastised himself. He drank deep.


End file.
